


There is a shipwreck between your ribs

by DoctorsHeart



Series: Roleplay Collection [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dancing, James is a nerd, Loss, M/M, Modern AU, Tattoos, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, a little fluff and a lot of drama, actually there is a lot of fluff, former drug addiction, james and john making things complicated as usual, james is a rich dude kind of, john silver doesn't know how to treat himself right, roleplay collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-08 01:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10375194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorsHeart/pseuds/DoctorsHeart
Summary: James Flint, former Navy Lieutenant, and current reporter of the famous radio show 'Project Walrus' has his fair share of demons breathing down his neck and he's dealt with them for some time now, but when he meets the charismatic but troubled John Silver, things change. They meet by accident - literally - and the man finds his way into Flint's head - and much worse, his heart - way easier than anyone should be able to and eventually both learn that it is easier to face one's demons together than alone.





	1. Collision

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so here's the thing - this is a roleplay I've written (or rather still am writing) with my lovely friend, my darling lil' shit.  
> I have decided to share it here, just the way we've written it which means me and her taking turns at replying. It isn't beta-read and I apologize for the mistakes I haven't noticed when skimming over it and fixing typos.  
> It is still being continued so more chapters will follow.  
> If you have questions - ask ahead, I don't bite.  
> Most of the characters' background stories will be revealed with time, so be patient.
> 
> ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_October_

 

 **Flint:**  
The sun was in his eyes when James drove to work. Warm and orange rays of light wrapping the surroundings into a veil of surreal, dream-like appearance. The days were shorter now that Autumn had finally arrived. The streets covered in wet leaves, burning red in the evening sun, making the road equally beautiful and dangerous.  
One hand on the wheel, the other holding a file, James's eyes jumped between the road in front of him and the text in his hand. He often got the feeling that the more he dug up, the less he understood. But that's probably what politics was like.  
This story was important, more important than the last one but still not his original goal. He'd have to dig deeper. Or maybe he'd just have to stop avoiding doing so.  
James skimmed over his own notes again and then placed the file on his lap for a moment to turn the sheet of paper and take a look at the next page.  
Apparently this moment of distraction was enough to create a disaster.  
He wasn't sure what exactly it was that went wrong, whether the wheel slipped from beneath his fingers and pulled the car onto the wrong side of the road, whether the car slipped on the rain stained road or it was someone else's fault but it seemed like a mere heartbeat passed between losing control of his car and the following collision.  
There was an unpleasant sound and then an even louder sound and the air was forced out of his lungs, pieces of shattered glass scattered around and then - silence. James was shaking, shock making his heart beat like a hammer. The file had slipped from his hand, now somewhere out of sight. Blood was dripping from his hand but James couldn't spot the wound. What had just happened?  
Someone groaned, thick and pained, and only then did Flint raise his head, looked across the road.  
Swearing under his breath he moved out of the car, finding its side badly scratched and the window at the driver's seat broken. But apparently he had gotten away better than the other guy whose bike now looked rather useless, lying on the side of the road.

"There was a fucking speed limit, did you not see that?!"  
He was already yelling even though he had just spotted the curly haired man who was very likely injured but apparently not enough to be unconscious - he was about to pull himself up onto his feet when James stepped up to the other and grabbed him by his jacket.  
"Learn how to fucking drive! You ruined my car, you shit!"  
He was shaking the younger man, blood dripping from his hand onto the other's shirt. Anger and panic were a mingle of indistinguishable chaos, making his hands tremble and the green in his eyes shimmer furiously.  
Why was he surrounded by idiots?!  
He'd never get to work now. Having to call the police and discuss the whole shit, having to decide who pays how much for the damage.  
In his anger, James did not realize that the man he was still holding too tight in his grip and too close, was lacking a leg. Maybe if he would have noticed this earlier, he wouldn't have pushed the other back as harshly as he did.  
And he probably wouldn't have kicked the other's already broken bike, almost injuring himself as doing so.  
Soon it'd get dark and he really didn't want to be stuck in here, half way to work, when he had to report his story and be on air in less than two hours. Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.  
James had the urge to pick the idiotic stranger up and throw him against something, something that would hurt. Instead he glared at the other man. There wasn't much he could do about this situation.  
  
  
**Silver:** Silver was going to be late for work - again.  
The simple statement persisted with its niggling, breaking every other thought he could have wanted to have instead of that one. Even the near-scolding stream of the shower couldn't let him relax from that thought for a while. He dropped his head slightly to allow the majority of the water to hit stiff muscles of shoulders and lower back for a while, having to let go of the support on the wall for a moment to properly wipe his wet curls out of his face.  
He sighed then, watching how his breath interacted with the thick steam filling the whole of the small room, swirling and diving as it was carried by the draft coming from the open window to his left.  
He was late because he woke up late, and it had been a sort of snowball effect from there.  
Luck was on his side though. His current boss was a relaxed man with a bit too much of a belly to say he was keeping up with the morning runs that he still insisted to everyone that he did. He understood that work wasn't necessarily what someone wanted to be doing every evening, and he also understood that it had come to be a little bit harder for Silver to do that fully. There was definitely pity from most he worked with now, constantly taking the more psychical tasks that he used to be left to do away from him.  
John wanted to say that that didn't bother him, but what was the point of lying to yourself? It felt more like a curse than help.  
But enough of that.  
Grip firmly back on the handrail next to him always made it a hell of a lot easier to turn the taps off from behind him. The autumn breeze that continued to carry steam out onto the rest of London hit him then, instantly making hairs stand up on his neck and arms. Sure, autumn was supposed to be romantic and all, but that didn't make it any more bearable. John hated the cold, hated the lack of daylight, and most definitely hated that people already assumed that it was practically bloody Christmas.  
Hand finding the sink, he made the single hop to the small seat in the middle of the room. From there he grabbed a towel and proceeded to dry himself off as quickly as he cared to pace himself, and connecting a prosthetic leg to yourself isn't the quickest of tasks either. Maybe the end of the remainder of someone's leg shouldn't hurt, but his sure did - it picked its moments, too - but he got through most of the pain without wanting to curl into a ball and give in to it.  
Once he was up and walking it was a breeze though. He threw on underwear, necklace, watch and a loose plain black shirt that usually did fine for a work shirt as well as his thankfully-not-obviously padded bike trousers, throwing the first pair of jeans into a backpack to change into when he got there. A drink of water with a couple of painkillers, a quick spray of aftershave and a pair of boots later and John was out of the apartment, throwing on jacket and backpack before tying his hair into what was probably an incredibly crude looking bun on the way down the flights of stairs and past the heavy main door round to the car park.  
It took only seconds to pull on helmet and to start driving in the direction of a more central area of the city not too far away.  
The streets were surprisingly quiet for early evening, though it wasn't all that abnormal. There was always a gap between the usual daytime traffic and the horror that was the rush hour evening traffic. John was only happy that his shifts usually came before then, even if the pub got much busier as he arrived.  
A couple of red lights was about all that stopped him through the city streets in the cool weather and John almost seemed to be able to relax in such a restless city.  
But then of course had to be the same moment that he crashed.  
Fuck.  
He might have shouted the word, he honestly didn't know. What he had been aware of was a rather painful sensation of his side bouncing off of what felt like a brick wall before hitting the floor harshly. The whole experience made Silver feel more like a Ragdoll than person, rolling from the pure force of the collision before coming to a stop on his back. It took a couple of seconds before the pain really set in and blurry vision of blue-orange sky and dull buildings framing it came back into focus.  
The grunt came from sitting up, crush of glass loud as he pushed himself to sit and pull of his helmet.  
John blinked once, twice, glanced around only to find his bike with front wheel and suspension bent to fit the tree it had hit. There wasn't a voice he was paying attention to then - not even the angry one from what seemed to be directly behind him.  
Fucking brilliant. Silver went to go and investigate the mess that was now his bike. This was just what he fuc- 

And from one moment to the next he was being lifted from the ground with an unsettling ease and was being barked at by a very unhappy and freckly man. It was also apparent in one of those moments that he suddenly became painfully aware that his prosthesis was dangerously loose against the rest of his leg.  
"Excuse me?!" He replied immediately, voice horse and unable to grasp at one distinct emotion to go with as he was being shaken by the man that seemed far too fucking angry at a bloody scratch down the side of his precious car. Another glance to said car cleared up why he might be about half as angry as he was.  
Bloody brilliant. It was a Bentley. He crashed into a rich man with a fucking Bentley.  
And you would have thought that he would have shut his mouth at that point to save any more trouble.  
"I'm quite fucking sure your vehicle hasn't just been completely written off because there's a little less paint on its door."  
The falling sensation came rather quickly after his snarky comment, and his distant worry for his leg became a painful reality. It buckled under the weight of him whilst not being centered and there was simply nothing he could do to stop himself falling backwards because of the other’s push. It was another heavy landing on his lower side and it was again enough for him to release a grunt as he sat himself up on the glass covered floor and dragged the rest of his leg back towards him.  
Silver didn't dare look up while fixing his prosthetic back to himself. He didn't want to see the pity that it seemed to cause every other person in the world to express towards him.  
He was sick of it. He wasn't some creature because of a lack of half a ligament.  
Picking himself off of the floor with the sensation of pain flowering over his left side, he took the short walk to what was left of his bike, sitting again next to it on the edge of the pavement and reaching into his jacket locket in the hopes that his lighter and at least one cigarette may have made it through the experience, and only looking up at the other when something caught his eye in the direction of the other's car, whilst completely ignoring the glare he was getting, or at least trying to. Green eyes seemed to be burning into his skull.  
"I assume they're your papers?"  
  
  
**Flint:** That fucking son of a bitch even dared to argue.  
James hated that guy already. And he didn't lose sight of the man for even a moment. The pained grunt escaping the other's lips was almost satisfying, the way he struggled to sit up on the ground. Though maybe the harsh treatment James had given the other was not the only reason for his pained expression and difficulty to recover his balance.  
It took Flint an embarrassing amount of time to realize what exactly it was the other man was struggling with - when he did realize though, his glare didn't cease.  
What did it matter whether that asshole was lacking his leg. The biggest problem here was that he was apparently lacking fucking brain cells.  
Something inside James understood that he should feel bad now, that this was not appropriate behavior for an adult man, but this part of him was easily ignored.  
Actually, Flint didn't even feel sorry for watching closely as the other fixed the prosthetic back where it belonged. Hell knew what he could do with that thing. James wouldn't want to know how it felt to have a prosthetic leg hit his skull when he wasn't looking.  
The man finally managed to get to his feet, half-walking and half-limping over to the wreck of his bike and sitting down again, looking for something in his pocket.  
What was that supposed to be? Smalltalk? Sharing a cigar and talking about their lives?  
Definitely fucking not.  
Flint, being about to throw another insult towards the other man, didn't get a chance to do so as said other man nodded towards something behind James.  
Papers. Of course. Fuck.  
Flint almost jumped, turning to collect the sheets from the ground, smearing blood over the paper in the process.  
Two pages were still missing but he couldn't spot them anywhere and that was not good at all. The information on those pages was not something others should get to see.  
James forced his eyes close and took a deep breath before facing the other again - he was dangerously close to jumping on the man.

"The fuck do you care?!"

At least he wasn't yelling anymore though he certainly sounded more defensive than he'd like to. There was a moment of tense silence in which Flint considered his options but eventually he sighed heavily and slumped down on the floor opposite the other, the papers tucked under his arm. No way out of this, the angry beast calm for now. There was defeat in James's movements as he sat cross legged upon the ground, seeming annoyed and bothered by the situation at hand. As if it wasn't a car crash but a nasty fly he hadn't managed to kill yet.  
"Tell me your name and the registration number of your vehicle. And your phone number, too. I need to get to work, I'll call you when I have time to discuss the damage."  
Picking out a pen and a notepad from his pocket, James went through the pages until he found an empty one and looked up towards the other man in expectation, pen ready in his hand.  
Yes, all he required was information. His car should still be driving, if he'd get this over with quickly, he'd still manage to be at work in time. And that guy and his motorcycle? What did he care about them.  
The sun was slowly setting, already melting into the horizon. Orange and warm, but what was more concerning was the cold breeze coming their way, indicating colder weather and bringing the smell of rain. Rain wasn't good. Not now.  
The clouds above their heads grew darker, heavier.  
James had spent enough years at the Navy to know how to read the sky and this, this definitely didn't look good. It was a matter of minutes now until rain would pour down and probably soak them both to the bone. Autumn was unpredictable when it came to such things and James really, really wanted to be back in his car and on the way to the station by the time it'd start raining.  
  
  
**Silver:** Breath hitched as he sat himself down against the cold edge of the pavement. Any jolt of adrenaline seemed to be leaving him as quickly as it came about because he was really beginning to hurt. It was a dull throbbing rather than anything more worrisome, though that didn't make moving any easier. But at least he didn't feel anything broken - no sharp and all incompacing burning pain that could easily knock out any man. He knew that pain well, it was distant most times but on the occasions that it raised itself once more, Silver-  
No. 

He didn't want to think about that right now. He had a ruined bike and an angry man to take care of.  
It was some bloody miracle to find that his lighter was held out against his body weight crushing it, even if it was a little cracked. The cigarettes hadn't faired so well.  
John sighed to himself, waving away someone who had built up enough worry to ask him if he was alright. 

He opened the squashed packet and took out one of the least effected cigarettes, rolling it around between thumb and forefinger to try and mold it back into its usual shape.  
Silver was rather surprised by the other’s sudden movements when directed towards what were likely his papers. It almost made him smile, but he knew if he let an expression like that stick when the other turned back around to likely glare at him again, he would probably be beaten up. And he was a rather pathetic fighter. Really, truly, pathetic. He was definitely more a talker, but even that had gotten him into trouble on more than a few occasions - serious trouble, too. Take losing a leg, for example. But he was good at talking as long as he could get someone to truly listen. He was good at shifting blame and manipulating thoughts.  
Yeah, he could see why others probably hated him sometimes. 

Lips parting just enough to rest cigarette between them, John lit its end and took a rather large drag, thin cloud of smoke emitting from him before it was taken away with the rather cold wind. There had been a chance that the highly strung individual opposite him may have calmed down in the time he was collecting whatever was on those important papers, but then he was usually the optimist.  
It seemed he was wrong about that. And whilst the other seemed, well, calmer, the word 'calm' really wasn't the right word for the older man and how he still seemed to favor glaring at him when he was the one that came out of it a lot better off.  
Another puff of smoke escaped him as Silver squinted up at the other against the hazy light of the early evening, who had come closer than he should probably feel comfortable with, whilst his own expression verged on mild confusion in reaction to the man's question.  
"I don't." He replied simply.  
It was a truthful statement. He wouldn't have cared if all of the other’s papers instantaneously burst into flame and was lost forever. He simply figured that they might have meant something to the other, and with a chance to keep those painfully aggressive eyes off of him for a few short and blissful moments, he was sure as hell going to take them.  
He tucked his good leg under the fake one to make a little more room as the other sat down opposite him, suddenly appearing more fed up with this situation rather than enraged.  
And there they sat for a few long moments, not enjoying each other’s company but forced to deal with one another for at least a short while.  
Silver dragged his vision away from his mangled bike as the other spoke up again as the sun was smothered by a dark cloud, holding out a small scrappy looking notebook and pen in a rather demanding fashion.  
Who in the hell carried a pen and paper anymore?  
Still, he took both and wrote down what was needed of him with the small and unused handwriting he could only hope the other could read clearly, shivering slightly after being taken by surprise as just how cold the wind was.  
"John Silver," he said with a small smile over the smoke and the wind and cold, passing the notepad and pen back to the other only when he'd triple checked. His name was scribbled at the top of the page anyway but he thought it a little better to actually introduce himself to the man he'd ruined the day of.  
And who knew, he might get a reply rather than just another glare.  
But no, there was nothing.  
Not one fucking word.  
He watched as the other got to his feet once more and walked back for his car at the exact moment the first spots of rain hit his face. Another short moment of silence between them and quite instantly it was raining like no one had seen the sun past the clouds in years. Today couldn't get any worse.  
"Hey!" He shouted to the other, voice tilting more on the side of pleading rather than anything aggressive as he got up off of the pavement.  
"Could you at least give me a ride to work?"  
The car door closed with a clear answer.  
Apparently not.

 **Flint:**  
Cigarette smoke joined the smell of rain lingering heavy in the air and Flint had to stop himself from making a stupid comment into the direction of 'smoking will get you killed quicker' because he had a feeling that the other man would have a better comment to counter with.  
Instead he decided to watch the other as he reached for pen and notebook and scribbled down what he's been asked for, the handwriting barely readable but on the other hand - James was used to bad handwritings from the Navy, from doctors, even from people at the radio.  
The wind had gotten stronger and it was about time to leave. Taking back the notebook and placing it back in his pocket, Flint was about to get to his feet when the other's voice interrupted him. John Silver. Really?  
So apparently the man - Mr. Silver - actually believed that this was a good moment for a chat.  
James just stared at him for a long moment like he might stare at a madman in a psychiatric clinic, and then went for his car.  
He didn't need names, he wasn't here to meet people. What the actual fuck had that been about.  
How could a single man annoy him this much.

His hand was on the door handle of his car when the first drops of water fell from the skies. It only took two more heartbeats for those few drops to turn into pouring rain.  
James hurried to get into his car, hearing Mr. Silver's voice call out to him just a moment before he'd shut the door and started the engine. No way he was dealing with this man any longer than necessary.


	2. All my demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Flint and John Silver meet again

_October, same year  
Halloween-week_

  
  


**Silver:**  
People tended to celebrate any occasion they could get their hands on - Halloween being no exception. It was still a couple of days away, but with the actual day falling on a Monday this year, it tended to work out that the whole weekend was enough of an excuse to get pissed in any pub that they happened to stumble upon.  
And of course, a pub that was themed like a pirate ship all year round gained a special amount of attention in late October because of it.  
Long story short, the place was packed.  
There were two serving floors. The main floor - or deck as he was supposed to call it (yes, he hated that) - was primarily made up of low beamed mahogany, benches and tables that were all in the building when it was built in the early 1700's. It included a rather large bar front and a couple of small areas off to either side of the main room, as well as a stupidly large fireplace to heat the whole building.  
The floor above was apparently only a few years old, and was a lot more modern because of it. It mainly followed the same layout as the downstairs though included a cocktail bar and lacked a fireplace. In times like this it was always much more busy upstairs than down.

The third floor was the highest though it was locked from public access. Silver usually went up there for his breaks and found the small balcony up there to be the perfect place to smoke and to step away from the work downstairs always had to offer him.  
John had been working on the second floor for most of the evening, working tirelessly to supply drinks, food and even a couple of famous pirate stories that he completely pulled from thin air but always seemed to amaze who he was telling because the shitty pirate outfit he'd been forced to wear seemingly made it more believable.  
Oh yeah, and he'd managed to pickpocket rather a lot of stuff too. But let's just brush past that fact.

It was only when the crowds started dying down did Silver even attempt to get down the stairs. He did it slowly, really not wanting to make of a fool of himself in front of so many people especially looking as he did, before slipping around the back of the bar and grabbing himself a little more than two shots worth of spiced rum in a glass, only taking a small sip of it before pausing upon hearing a weirdly familiar voice and turning to address it.  
It was only until they locked eyes and he saw just _who_ it was that was sat at the bar did everything finally click - something that had been bugging him since the phone call they had about the crash later that evening.  
"Shit."  
  
  


**Flint:**  
The ride to work had been alright except for the fact that he'd gotten soaked anyway since one of the windows was broken.  
James had not dared to check out his papers while in the car because the last thing he needed was another car crash, this time in the rain. So it was only when he was already sitting in his chair at the station, a cup of hot coffee to his right, a bandage wrapped around his injured hand, that he realized - something wasn't right. And with 'something' he meant papers. Pages were missing from his story, actually two of the most important pages and James couldn't believe this day was even fucking real.  
They must have gotten lost somewhere in the car crash, by now probably dripping wet, stuck somewhere in a tree.  
"You're on air in 10"  
Flint merely nodded at Billy - a fellow journalist who sometimes accompanied him for his work. The only one who was ever allowed to accompany him and the only one who was allowed to give him any advice.  
Flint had dried up by now and luckily enough his notes were still there, he'd be able to get the story together with the help of said notes, after all he had read through it about a hundred times and had spent the past weeks working on it and yet it bugged him because, you see, those weren't merely papers. The information upon them could get him and whoever might have found it into serious trouble and-  
"On air in 5"  
James collected himself, spread out the papers on the table in front of him and reached for the headphones. Later.  
He would think about this later.  
And he did.  
Actually, he did more than just think about it. He drove back to the place of the accident and spend what felt like 4 hours in the pouring rain, walking through bushes and grass and trying to find the papers he was missing without result. They were gone, vanished from this earth as if they had never fucking existed and it woke in Flint the urge to scream up to the heavens above. He didn't. Instead he kicked the closest tree hard enough for a chestnut to fall upon his head.  
It was a big chestnut. And it hurt.  
Utterly done with the situation, James drove into the direction of home and found himself, three hours later, sitting on the floor beneath the running shower with a bottle of scotch in his hands. Luckily enough he had already called Mr. Silver.  
  
  
The following weeks were rainy and cold. Autumn had finally settled properly, chasing away the last traces of summer but Flint couldn't complain. It was, in fact, his favorite season.  
He hadn't been able to find the missing papers since and a new story had kept him occupied. Halloween was soon to come and that meant decorations and sweets and dressed up kids.  
He'd never admit it but sometimes James enjoyed this part of the season, too. The kids ringing his door and asking for sweets, freezing in their tiny costumes. He couldn't tell with certainty whether he was a family person, whether he had ever wanted to have children. He hadn't considered it, not really, out of...obvious reasons. And even now, thinking of the possibility of having a family, made him feel a little dizzy, a little sick. It was as if something was very, very wrong about that thought and he should never consider it again.  
It was a day rainy as any other when James drove home from his work. The day had been busy and he's been on his feet since early morning. The private interview he's managed to achieve with a pretty important politician hadn't gone half as well as hoped and he should probably be glad he hadn't been dragged out by the security. All in all, the day hadn't been easy on him. It was late, the streets dark. People were already celebrating Halloween though it wasn't even due and James wasn't sure what it was that caused him to stop on the way home. He had gotten his car fixed up, exchanged the window and renewed the paint. The injury on his hand had been deeper than expected, he received a few stitches at the hospital and a new bandage which he was supposed to wear for another week.  
The pub of his choosing was not one he had visited before. It was one of those places that looked very vintage from the outside but were probably grotesquely modern on the inside. As soon as James stepped into the warmth and dim lights inside of it though, he was proven wrong. Actually, he quite liked it here. It looked old-fashioned and comfy in a way that reminded him of 18th century ships.  
Maybe that was intended, after all the pub seemed to be…pirate themed, if he got that right?  
According to the waiters he did get it right. What even were those ridiculous hats? Were they celebrating a children's birthday party?  
James sat down at the bar anyway. The place was pretty stuffed still, despite the hour, so he could only imagine how many more people there had been just a few hours ago.  
The dim lightning was soothing; the warm of the fireplace eased his muscles and the best part? Rum was part of the list of beverages on the menu. Wonderful.  
Flint had left his jacket in the car, now rolling up the sleeves of his button-up shirt, the warmth inside being a sharp contrast against the cold winds outside the door.  
"Could I have some rum, please? Straight."  
He quickly added the last word, not wanting those people to mix some useless lemon-mint-pepperoni bullshit into his drink.

The very second the waiter turned to face him though, James was met with very familiar eyes.  
Apparently the other man recognized him as well and despite the not so quiet other guests that were occupying this place, James could clearly see how the man cursed under his breath. Flint blinked at Mr. Silver as if he couldn't believe his eyes and then sighed heavily while rolling his eyes as if alone the view of this man had ruined his entire week.  
Well, that wasn't all that far from the truth, actually.  
After another moment of staring at the other man though, James started to grin. It was a slow thing, a gleam of amusement in his eyes that only slowly reached his lips and tugged them into a mischievous smirk.  
In his annoyance and surprise he had utterly ignored the fact that Mr. Silver, in fact, was wearing one of those silly hats, too. Accompanied by a coat which looked piratish but also like it was hella warm to work in it.  
"Nice outfit."  
Flint couldn't stop the words, not that he really tried to. He was still grinning when the other man's eyes darkened, quite obviously not amused.

 **Silver:**  


There was a short moment where they seemed to take one another in, to register how best to go about this potentially tricky situation. Well, at least there was that thought on Silver's side. The other seemed quite happy to give him a stare that seemed to be in complete distaste, almost like he'd just ruined the man's week just by stumbling across him again… Actually-  
Another moment passed and before John could even hope to consider saying anything that might just salvage this already failing and unpredicted meeting, there was a change in the other's expression. The change crept over his features, distorting distained expression with the addition of a few more taut muscles. John's expression just happened to do the stark opposite in unison, mind clicking to just why the change in expression happened in the first place.  
Brilliant.  
Fucking brilliant. Silver gave the other a stare that was somewhere between disappointment and defeat.  
It was good enough to happen to have ruined his bike and almost be assaulted by the man sat across from him, but now he had and be mocked on one of the only bloody days he had to wear this stupid pirate themed clothing practically at the end of a horrible shift? Could he not catch a break?  
The hat was pushed across the bar in the older man's direction before anyone could say another word about the bloody thing.  
"You wear it then. I'm sure it'll suit you, too."  
Imagining a situation where upon he saw the man wearing that hat was enough to make Silver smirk. The contrast between it and the godawful glares the other could give would make it the best thing Silver could possibly hope to see in a long, long time.  
But no matter how much he wanted to plant that hat on top of the other’s head and watch the rage set back upon his features and likely face being punched square on the end of the nose, he did still have a job to at least half attend to. Which also meant serving his unlikely associate.  
Silver placed his own drink down and reached up, grabbing another freshly washed glass hanging from a small rack just out of view of everyone on the other side of the bar and wiped it clean of any residue with the dishcloth tucked to the side of him via his belt.  
It gave him a moment to scan the rest of the room, so he could judge if he could have the last hour of so of his shift simply stood behind the bar and actually half enjoying himself with a drink in hand, or if he had to leave his favorite area of the place to return back upstairs. Luckily it looks like the latter was being sorted out, and he simply nodded to the worker that headed to replace him up there.  
It didn't take a moment to drain the bottle of rum of another portion of the liquid - something that always struck him as being a stupidly small amount which was exactly the reason why he's poured himself double.  
John placed the glass down in front of the man, glass giving a heavy sound against the surface of the bar. He didn't bother with prices because he had a feeling that the other wouldn't just be staying for a single glass. The man looked tired and rather bored when he wasn't trying to intimidate him.  
Another glance towards the man as he picked up his own glass and took a healthy portion of it down. Liquid courage maybe after all.  
"You sound a lot friendlier on the radio."  


**Flint:**  
This was absolutely priceless. The man's expression definitely made his day and James had a hard time not to end up laughing at the look in Mr. Silver's eyes.  
The hat was thrown into his direction and James caught it, almost falling off his bar chair in the process though luckily enough the other didn't see.  
Mr. Silver's words almost a challenge and after a moment of consideration, James shrugged to himself and actually put the hat on, adjusting it atop of his head. Because why the fuck not.  
Halloween was getting close and James was confident about the fact that he didn't look all that bad with hats.  
At least Silver was actually doing his job, long curls held together in a loose, messy tail at the back of his neck. Actually making him look like a pirate from the back.  
All that was missing was a peg leg. Wait.

James snorted to himself, it was probably inappropriate to laugh about the fact that Mr. Silver was just perfect for a pirate-themed bar but Flint didn't care at the moment. 

The rum was served and he considered the glass for a moment. It was unbelievable how there were pubs in the world that had to close up due to lack of money if one only considered how much such a small amount of rum or whiskey cost.  
James picked up the glass and swirled the liquid in it with a lazy movement of his wrist. The hat he was now actually wearing threw shadows onto the dark liquid.  
He still needed to get home, he shouldn't drink too much.  
That was what crossed James's mind when he downed the drink and raised his glass to Mr. Silver, indicating that the man was supposed to keep refilling it until James stopped him.  
Not the best idea he's had today. Actually a very bad idea. And he was trying to drink less. But Flint was really talented when it came to suppressing and ignoring things, and that's just what he did. He simply ignored the voice of reason in his head. After all he wasn't intending to get drunk, right? He could just stop after let's say... three glasses.  
Mr. Silver tore him out of his thoughts and James looked up against his will to meet the other's eyes. Big and gray-blue, sharp in a way that didn't quite suit the soft color.  
Apparently drinking at work was allowed here, too, according to the glass in the other's hand.  
How did that shit know he worked at the radio? He couldn't have possibly recognized him merely because of his voice?  
"You must be confusing me with someone else."  
James smiled vaguely and waited until Mr. Silver had refilled his glass to take another sip from the rum, this time not downing it in one go.  
The dim lights caught in the dark liquid of the rum in his glass and reflected upon the freckled skin of his lower arms, dancing across the tanned skin.  
James observed his drink for another moment before raising the glass to his lips and emptying it at once. The alcohol was warm and oddly familiar, it relaxed him and made things appear unimportant and easier to bear. A dangerous thing to enjoy. The rum was good though, well spiced and just strong enough to easily forget about the alcohol-percentage. Just the way James liked it.  
This time he didn't have to raise the glass to get Mr. Silver to refill it.  
  
  


**Silver:**  
Only after his comment to the other did he actually bother looking in his direction, which was actually quite a lucky thing, considering.  
Well he'd be damned - there was a soul in that vessel after all. Even better than that, there seemed to be humor behind those judging eyes.  
Silver smiled but only managed to keep down most of the laugh that he could feel bubbling up his throat. It came out a low, amused chuckle. He wouldn't have said that it was a rare thing to hear from him lately, though it wasn't a particularly frequent occurrence either. But then he wasn't really focused on that.  
The other had captivated his attention entirely. And he was right with what thought only a few moments prior - the hat made him look one hell of, well, kinder. A small handful of longish ginger strands sat stark even in the shadows caused by the hat, tips that caught the dim yellowish lighting directed at the bar just further emitted its warm color. The man's features seemed softer now, too, and those green-blue eyes of his caught the fragments of light reflecting from his glass to create fantastic and vibrant shades for those fractions of a moment.  
John allowed himself the moment to relax then, leaning against the opposing side of the counter to the man at about arms distance away to his right, and thus removing all weight from his prosthetic. And boy did that feel good. Even his stubbornness couldn't argue with something as obvious as that. And he felt a little bit cooler now that he'd stopped moving constantly with a bloody thick coat on. But before he could properly sink into his stance, the other had downed his first drink. He'd guessed right, it seemed, and he didn't really even need to see the gesture with the glass to know that the man wanted a refill.

Silver gave a slight nod, hand tapping against the solid wood and picked up his glass again as if to prepare himself for reapplying his weight to his other leg, and following in the other’s decision and downing his glass too. There was a momentary wince as the potency of the rum hit the back of his throat and went down, but it was soon replaced with the warmth he would probably never tire of. Not bothering to take the glass, he instead decided just to unclasp the bottle from its position on the wall to save himself the small trouble of turning around every few moments.  
A small chink of glass on glass met them both as John poured the next glass for the man, deciding after a short moment of thought that he wasn't going to follow suit.  
"Bullshit." Silver replied, brows raised and semi-amused tone suggesting to the other just how poor his attempt at avoiding this was. And really, did the older really think him to be that stupid? Surely he knew better - to be underestimated was a great power to give someone, after all.  
"It's Flint, isn't it?-" he continued - because he really wasn't ready to drop this topic so quickly. "All those papers, pad and pen always on hand, that miserable minor celebrity attitude - a fucking Bentley!"  
Silver poured the man's glass again, grin now happily sat on his own features. Hopefully that was clear enough to suggest he knew who the other was, or it was at least to get his point across.  
"Or would you prefer me to call you Captain?~"  
  
  


**Flint:**  
At least Mr. Silver wasn't bad at his job, James had to give him that. His glass was being filled almost immediately and the view of the dark liquid made James's smile last for just a little longer.  
Mr. Silver seemed to relax, too. Which was pretty hard to understand for Flint considering the amount of people still in this place - how could one possibly relax surrounded by so many people?  
Flint looked up just in time to catch the gleam of amusement in the other's eyes, the way the light fell upon the blue of his iris reminded James of the first morning rays upon a calm ocean's waters. Mr. Silver could definitely be considered handsome. There was no way to ignore that and now, once the thought had crossed his mind, no way to forget about it either.  
Apparently falling off his stupid bike had been of advantage for Mr. Silver, maybe the crash had awoken some of the brain cells in the other's skull and actually got him to think.  
Because the things he said were quite reasonable and Flint sighed in defeat.  
"Having pen and paper on hand is not a valuable argument. Any good writer always has pen and paper on hand, just like any good artist does."  
That wasn't even the point and James knew. Yet he arched his eyebrow at some of the things the other man said. Giving the other a judging, sharp look.  
"Miserable minor celebrity attitude? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"  
James didn't add the fact that his Bentley was merely a car he used for work. It was the only one he owned, yes, but he had bought it because it was fast and large, just what he needed. And even if, he did not have to justify himself in front of that... that shit.  
Who even judged people by their cars? Bullshit.  
Flint still hadn't agreed to nor denied the other's assumptions, hadn't said that indeed yes, he was that man. That guy named Flint who drove 'a fucking Bentley' and worked at the radio station. At Silver's next comment though, James snorted in amusement. It was the stupid hat, wasn't it.  
Captain Flint of project Walrus. Now if that didn't sound nice.  
James merely shook his head at the other man's words, downed what was left of his drink and watched the other refill his glass anew.  
The rum didn't burn as bad anymore, it was what alcohol did - once you downed a few glasses anything tasted mild.  
Mr. Silver was still grinning that stupid grin of his, happy and smug and so immensely annoying and yet, tonight James did not mind the company. Actually, he might even be appreciating it, not that he'd ever admit to that.  
And yes, true, would he'd have the chance to choose, he probably - no, definitely - would not have picked John fucking Silver as his conversational partner for tonight but he did not get a chance to choose so fuck it.  
There must be worse people out there to talk to at a pub at night.  
Maybe.  
James wasn't so sure.  
  
  


**Silver:**  
Back against the bar and weight again relieved, Silver’s hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle that Flint was easily emptying on his own. It occurred to him then that the other wasn't really tasting this drink at all, but for the most part rather just throwing it down his neck without a second thought.  
But he didn't say a thing. In all honesty he didn't think he needed to speak a word to the other because he knew what he was getting himself in for. And besides, what should he care if someone wanted to get shitfaced about as quickly as someone could do so? As long as he got paid at the end of it he was only doing his job, surely.  
Yes - he reassured himself - what problem was it of his?  
Silver didn't need to hear the confirmation from Flint, because he already knew who he was. He couldn't deny himself the satisfaction of hearing that sweet sigh of defeat from the other, though. It was always great to be right - especially against someone rather hot tempered. Which Flint was.  
Speaking of temper problems...  
Flint didn't seem particularly happy about his brief observations. The sharp look that John received was a brilliant one, and again the pirate hat just made it all look rather a lot more comical that it actually was. But he was still more than a little thankful to have the majority of a bar stand between them. The last thing he wanted was a fight, and Flint looked like one hell of a fighter.  
Still, he couldn't help pushing the man's buttons.  
"Well, for a start that glare doesn't quite help you win the hearts of your potential fans."  
The smile Silver carried faltered then. Somehow the other's glare became more intense and more angry than he had ever remembered it.  
Christ, it was only meant as a joke. Well, no, that was a lie. It was more making light of some of Flint’s characteristics. A semi-joke, if you will.  
No. No that really wasn't going down well at all.  
John swallowed, hand letting go of the bottle after quickly refilling Flint's glass with what was quite definitely more than one refill to push him just out of what he deemed to be the bubble of space they shared to converse.  
He managed to block out the stare from his peripheral enough to realize it was still raining outside. People were slowly funneling out of the premises, black taxi cabs illuminating every so often in the background from street lights, and although it was still much more busy than a usual Saturday evening, there was a definite improvement from even just an hour prior.  
He wondered how the other had got here then. Flint had no coat on him, and he didn't look to be damp from the rain that had been persisting for the best part of the whole day. So did he really just drive here to drink?  
The thought escaped him as he became caught up with a couple of customers. He served them their drinks, shared a couple of brief conversations, took his time sorting the money into the till and collecting the right amount of change to give back to each of them. Cleared the empty glasses given into a crate just out the back so it was ready to be picked up early tomorrow morning and washed. He considered heading upstairs for a cigarette. But he couldn't.  
There was something drawing him back to the quiet and grumpy man at the bar.  
Old wooden floorboards echoed the uneven sounds between one foot and the other in Silver's steps. Others had mentioned that he should get an 'authentic' wooden peg leg to complete his look while working here. It wasn't something John found funny in the slightest, so he could understand why the man had given him such an aggressive stare at what he'd said. He guessed that this was his own way at saying sorry.  
"I don't assume you came here to find me for a chat." John eventually said only after a long moment standing opposite the other again with no comment, light smile finding its way back to him and fingers on right hand faintly tapping the bar in order a few times over. The bottle was a lot closer to Flint than he had remembered he'd left it, and he considered in that moment to take the bottle away from the man and to try and talk some sense into him. Something told him not to go through with the thought though. The man didn't need pity or false care just as he didn't.  
"Shit day?"  
  
  


**Flint:**  
That man must be brave like a lion or maybe simply very, very stupid because considering the direction in which this conversation between them was going, Flint couldn't guarantee for the man's safety anymore. But at least his glare, which apparently 'didn't quite help him win the hearts of his potential fans' - was there a compliment hidden here somewhere? - seemed to falter the man's enthusiasm and Flint watched with intense attention as Mr. Silver swallowed in nervousness and refilled the glass as if that was going to save him.

"Has it occurred to you that I am not interested in 'fans'?"

Christ he hated that word.  
'Fans'. It made him think of really uncomfortable situations and really loud people.  
Mr. Silver tore those pretty blue eyes off him and looked into the direction of the windows, giving Flint just about enough time to empty his glass. He had forgotten to count.  
It was one of those things a wanna-be doctor had once told him - to count the amount of glasses he emptied, that was supposedly making it easier to drink less. Flint remembered how this 'doctor' had looked at him, like he was someone who needed help. His fingers tightened around the glass, causing a distant ache in his injured hand.  
Distant enough for Flint to realize that he's definitely had a drink too much. He wondered whether the room would spin if he'd get up from his chair now but he wasn't eager to find out.  
Mr. Silver didn't seem to bother though, he hadn't complained not once when refilling his glass. Apropos, where was that little shit?  
James looked up to find said little shit doing his work, serving the costumers and exchanging a few words with them. That smug, easy smile was back and Mr. Silver appeared to be one hell of a talker, too.  
Well then. James moved just enough to reach for the rum bottle Mr. Silver had left standing just in reach, and refilled his glass again. He probably had enough money to pay it so he did not bother too much.  
That fucking bullshit day. The missing pages still bothered him but the more James bothered about them the less he seemed to be able to get a logical reason as to why those pages were gone. Or maybe it was just the alcohol clouding his mind, he couldn't tell for sure.  
What he could tell for sure though was that it was probably quite of advantage for Mr. Silver here that James was at least tipsy - according to others, he was much more bearable when drunk. Flint still hadn't decided whether that's been a joking compliment or an insult.  
It was again Silver who tore him out of his thoughts and James took his time to look up, emptied his glass and refilled it anew before finally meeting the blue eyes that were expecting him.  
It looked like the man had been standing there for a while already and James frowned at himself for not having noticed.  
Eventually a light smile formed upon James's features and he took off that stupid hat to place it on the bar-table next to him, sliding a hand through his ginger hair to push it out of his eyes.  
"Hell of a shit day."  
It was getting considerably harder to form words but James had his glass empty in no time anyway, cheering at the other man.  
There was a distant thought in his mind that told him to get out and call a cab, drive home. Because Mr. Silver getting to witness him drunk was a very bad idea and he'd regret it eventually. But this thought got lost somewhere in the fog of his mind and James chuckled to himself.  
He knew why he was here. The day hadn't been shit because it had been shit in all the obvious ways - he's had such days before, actually there were barely any days that weren't difficult in his job, but today wasn't about his job, it was the date that mattered. Today was Thomas's birthday. Or well, it would have been. James often got drunk on that day, but especially after nothing had worked out at work. And yes, he was forcefully ignoring the fact that all the things that went wrong at work on that particular day might likely be caused by a placebo effect because he simply assumed nothing good could happen on that day.  
Those were sober thoughts though, thoughts that didn't cross his mind at this very moment.  
"I was almost kicked out by the security at work today. They didn't kick me out in the end but that did not prevent one of those guys from punching me in the ribs before telling me to leave. I've lost two of the most important pages of my last story in that fucking car crash and they must have vanished into thin air because I've spend hours looking for them in the rain. I had my hand stitched up a few days ago and I really hate stitches. I spilled coffee over my desk at work."

He was rambling. Why was he even talking to Silver? This was not really any of the other's business. But of course, alcohol loosened the tongue and maybe James simply felt like complaining about his day to someone. His fingers played with the half-filled glass in his hands. He drank it slower now, though that was probably because he filled the glass properly.  
"Oh and I might have ruined a woman's life in an interview today. That about sums it up."  
James smiled at the other man, finding his glass oddly heavy in his hand and he truly had to focus not to accidentally drop it on the way of raising it to his lips.  
Mr. Silver still hadn't bothered to take the bottle away and Flint, despite knowing that it did not mean anything at all, was grateful for that.  
  
  


**Silver:**  
Had it occurred to him that Flint may not want 'fans'?  
Yes actually - he thought to himself - that was something that kinda made sense with his character quite well.  
He wouldn't want fans if they paid him.  
He didn't like the one to give autographs to those who recognized him, and probably for everyone else's safety, /no photographs/.  
Maybe it was the thought that arose from the other's lack of social skills that brought John back to the bar opposite him again.  
Why did he look so strangely lost when he stared down at his glass of the dark and burning liquid? What was it that attracted him to the drink here in the first place when he could have just gone home?  
His questions bugged him, and honestly if he would have felt the need to really find out, he probably could quite easily. Silver didn't doubt his ability to get things out of people when they were sober. When they were drunk it got trickier, weirdly. Drunk men spilled what was sat on the tip of their tongues easily enough, but secrets actually became a lot harder to get to. One wrong move, one comment too many, and they would shut down in the most dramatic of ways. Anger usually included. Barriers in complete defense, smashed glasses and misdirected punches.  
A sober man's barriers rarely changed, you just needed to know them well enough to get around them.  
Flint had seemingly had enough of the poor-quality hat, and actually Silver found it a little sad that he took it off. He sort of missed it already. He had been joking when he said the other would look good in it and he wasn't quite expecting to actually look good in it.  
That smile that the other was almost alien to what he had come to see before. That smile was probably as close to genuine as John was ever going to get, and did it ever suit him. Gone were any sharp and aggressive features - they were now smoothed out against skin that looked to have enjoyed the last of  
the summer. Silver had no doubt that his mood could change back on a coin toss, but right now there looked to be a friendly and reserved man within him somewhere.  
And was it bad that he wanted to get to know that Flint more? No. But somehow that seemed like it would be one hell of a task to achieve.  
Silver had been right again apparently. And a bad day it was indeed. It just so happened that the nice atmosphere at least he was trying to build paused for a moment.  
Pages? John knew those pages well. So well in fact that he could've recite it line for line the moment Flint had mentioned them. Those pages had been the reason for him actually realizing who he was in the first place, and out of spite alone had he withheld the fact that he had indeed found those pages caught and crumpled under his bike only a few moments after the other had refused him a small favor when on the phone to him later that evening.  
The pages had confused him at first. Names and dates that meant as much as thin air to him. He thought that maybe Flint was some sort of politician or someone who worked particularly high within the Navy's ranks, but upon hearing his voice-  
John blinked down at the other who was still talking how shitty his day had been, catching on to the last part of his sentence. He took a large inhale of humid air, hand running over slight stubble of his face. He could remain calm - he'd hidden things from people before.  
Just change the subject and forget about it.  
"What the fuck did you say to her to make that happen?" Silver managed to cough up as much as amused tone as he could muster after coming out of his own thoughts so forcefully. And once he'd caught up with what Flint had just said he was actually quite intrigued to find out. He imagined the other to be as he was on the radio most of the time - well-spoken and pleasant. To hear something different simply demanded in answer.  
He glanced at his watch. 12:09 am. He finished nine minutes ago and yet here he was still, time passing by much too quickly and not feeling uncomfortable with it. Leaving didn't really even cross Silver's mind then, and he definitely wouldn't tell the other he had finished work, not now he was seeming to get to know a nicer side of him.  
But he'd be damned if he was going to stand any longer.  
Silver pushed away from his side of the bar, immediately throwing the godawful coat out the door to the room he'd disappeared into a little while earlier and then took the slow walk round to Flint's side, dragging another barstool up next to him and sitting himself down onto it. A relieved sigh escaped him just as he grabbed the pirate hat and placed it back on his own head.  
He caught Flint glancing at him and John returned it with a rather smug smile. He could have one more drink and still get home safely, couldn't he?  
Either way he slid the glass he had abandoned earlier across the space between them on the bar table with enough force for it to be safely in the other’s space.  
It only seemed fair to the other pour a glass for him as he'd helped himself.  
  
  


**Flint:**  
Flint was definitely too caught up in his own thoughts to see the little slip of control upon the other's features. Maybe, if he would have been sober he would have seen the hint of realization in Silver's eyes. Maybe he would have asked about it and maybe, eventually, he'd even be able to connect the dots and find out where his pages had gone missing to.  
But that was not the case.  
Actually, James didn't notice the other's momentary distraction at all.  
He looked up at Silver's question, wavering for a moment. In his drunken state Flint was still aware that he shouldn't be sharing any information about his work.  
"Uh...actually I'm not supposed to tell you."  
James hesitated, tilted his head lightly in thought, hand stroking his beard, something he often did when considering an idea, thought or decision.  
Eventually he sighed.  
"I told her that her daughter is stuck in an abusive ...relationship. Complicated story."  
He needed two go's to get the word 'complicated' right.  
His eyes followed Silver when the man got rid of his coat and eventually joined James at the bar. Latter had to grin when seeing that stupid hat atop the other's curls again. The urge to reach out and get rid of whatever held those curls together suddenly overcame James and he imagined how they'd spill over the other's shoulders, soft and dark, how they'd frame blue eyes and wrap around the fingers of his hand once he'd reach out to touch, how-... too late Flint realized that he was staring at the other too intently and instead of actually reaching for the man's hair he quickly reached for the bottle to refill both their glasses, definitely filling them up with way more rum than would've been necessary.  
Christ if Miranda could see him now....James could easily remember her disappointed glance and the touch of her hands resting upon his chest as if to stop him from doing something stupid.  
He pushed the thought aside.  
"You're not supposed to drink during your shift, Mr. Silver."  
A crooked eyebrow and the hint of playful amusement accompanied his words as he held the glass he had just filled up for Silver just out of reach for the man.  
Wanna drink? Come and get it.  
James was grinning again and the day didn't feel half as bad as it probably would have if he'd have driven home.  
Yes, why hadn't he gone home, actually? It would have saved him some money and it is not like he didn't have any alcohol in his house.  
But Flint knew why he hadn't returned home. He knew that stepping into the house today would have been torture. The silence would be mocking, the ticking of the clock a bitter reminder and each sip of whiskey, scotch or brandy he'd take would make him feel guiltier. And the clock would just continue to tick away the minutes until it'd be long past 3 and he'd be still sitting at the kitchen table, the empty bottle judging him in silence.  
No, he hadn't desired this at all and being aware of this scenario James has instead decided to avoid going home for just a little bit longer. He wasn't sure what he had expected when stepping into the pub. Maybe he really just couldn't stand the silence.  
James returned to the here and now, finding himself not at his kitchen table but still in the pub and there was no empty bottle judging him but instead sharp, blue-gray eyes, dark curls and a stupid pirate hat.  
Had John Silver always been this gorgeous?  
James erased this question from his mind as soon as it had formed, hoping to bury it forever and ever so that it may never see the light of day again.  
  
  


**Silver:**  
An abusive relationship?  
Silver didn't know in that sentence made it feel off. Who knew, Flint could've been telling the complete truth, maybe it was simply the fact that the man had to have a second go at the word 'complicated' made the whole situation sort of shift. It felt odd talking about something so serious to someone over drinks, though that didn't stop him from wanting to ask more questions. John decided better of it rather quickly, his own thought from earlier coming back to the forefront of his mind for a moment - he still wasn't keen on the idea of pushing the man away.  
The noise of the glass slipping across vanished wood came to a halt and although Silver's eyes were on what would soon hold his share of the alcohol he was after, someone else definitely wasn't.  
The stare didn't feel like he should back away this time though, but it wasn't any less obvious. Was Flint seriously just... was he...-  
Silver gave a second glance to the older man and apparently that was all that was needed for him to realize also. The man jolted back to life, motions heavy and a little harsh due to heavy limbs brought on by however much rum he'd consumed. Rather impressive, seeing as many people who drank hard liquor here ended up being in much worse of a state by this point than he did. But then maybe he was just good at hiding it.  
A huff was the first response to Flint's comment towards him, smile sticking but leaving out any smugness for the time being and he toyed with the idea of simply shrugging in response like some sort of hormonal teenager. But that didn't suit the moment rea-  
Okay, so now he was laughing. This man, this potentially deadly beast of a man, reduced to making him work for a drink by holding it out of his reach.  
John caught the other’s eyes with his and waited a short moment, as if to try and decipher whether he was just teasing him momentary or if he would actually have to get up. The other didn't falter.  
Looks like the latter then.  
Silver nodded his head slightly. The gesture was a pointless one, but he had to admit he liked that Flint seemed so suddenly determined to keep drink away from him considering how much of it he'd drank.  
With another deep breath he pushed himself back to his feet, glance flicking between the glass that moved further back and the other’s grinning features, with hand switching from the edge of the bar to the closest of Flint's shoulders as a better support once he was well and truly in the other's personal space.  
It didn't feel hostile at all, but in fact rather playful still. There was a distinct hit of sandalwood and deep spices hidden under the powerful smell of the rum Flint had been enjoying and its presence almost completely distracted John from what he was actually doing so close to the other. Well, that and the firm muscle he hadn't expected to be against the shoulder he was holding both because of his own aching leg and to at least try and prevent the man from falling off the bar stool when he-  
Wait. He glanced again just to make sure.  
The smug smile of Silver's joined him again. He took one last moment to look over Flint's rather beautifully colored eyes and how the drink made irises distort and swell. And actually, the rest of him wasn't half bad either.  
Yeah. He could drink to that.  
All in all the next couple of seconds were probably some of the better in his life so far. Silver had reached forward for a glass, yes, but it was not the glass that Flint was holding. And by the time the other realized what he was actually doing John was downing the drink. It took two large mouthfuls, and the burn was pretty horrible. But it was a victory against Flint and that was rather a remarkable thing in itself and he didn't even consider hiding it from him.  
"Drink up,"  
he said, placing the glass down with a victorious thud, "bar's closing soon."


	3. Buy the Captain Rum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silver sleeps on the couch and James is lucky he isn't left behind to spend his night on the pavement

  
**Silver:**  
Drink up?  
Famous last fucking words.  
Oh, yeah, Flint did drink up. He drank the rest of the fucking bottle and that’s about the time hell on earth started.  
The man couldn't even remember his damn address by the time Silver dragged the man out of the pub, let alone stand.  
Which was great.  
What was better was that the only way they were ever going to get home with precisely no money was via the man's Bentley. His manual Bentley.  
But it was their only shot back to John’s apartment, and just standing against the car getting drenched in the rain after finally fishing the keys to the car out of the man's back pocket wasn't exactly helping either of them.  
But that was one thing. The driving was borderline excruciating both due to his inability to actually drive the fucking car and that if, for a reason only god would know he happened to actually damage the car? Silver would be better off drowning himself in a bloody puddle then to save himself from a Flint far less cuddly than the one that had been draped over the back seats would be.

And if that wasn't enough, now there were stairs. They weren't easy anyway, but with practically another person’s body weight to carry, Silver was incredibly close to slumping to the floor in defeat and crying from the unbearable aching.  
So yeah, why did he say drink up again?  
"Are you fucking kidding me?!"  
He shouted to the other, who again nearly stumbled to the floor and dragged John along with him. It wasn't often he shouted - he wasn't really the type to. But even saints would lose their patience with this man. A few seconds to collect enough of himself and again he lifted the other back up, weight resting upon his back and shoulder. They'd made it up two flights. Silver's apartment was on the third.  
"Just..." Silver had to draw in another labored breath. "Would you just fucking work with me here?"

  
**Flint:**  
A tilt of head, followed by a smile and eyes locked upon his own. A deep breath and then motion.  
Silver moved from his seat to reach for the apparently badly desired drink. It was evident that the man was exhausted but that didn't stop that smile nor the man's determination. Hand switching from bar to shoulder as Silver leaned in to reach for his glass, his hand warm through James' shirt. He smelled of rum and aftershave and those curls were suddenly so very close to Flint's face. He was surprised at himself that he managed to move the glass even further away from Mr. Silver, despite being quite distracted by the other suddenly being this close.  
Something shifted in Silver's eyes then, though and Flint was too slow to catch the thought that had jumped through the other's mind.  
It was really only when the man had downed his drink, slamming the glass back against the wood with a smile that was definitely smug and definitely proud, that James realized what had just happened.  
He almost pouted at this cruel trickery but cheered at the other regardless, giving him this moment of praise, before emptying his glass.  
Actually, he emptied more than that glass.

By the time a cold wind set in and rain was soaking his clothes, James had finished off the bottle and left the pub - not that he was quite aware of either by that time. He was way too focused on not stumbling which appeared to be unbelievably hard to achieve. Everything was moving, spinning with each shallow breath he took and controlling his own legs was almost like lifting the heaviest available weights during a work-out; basically impossible.  
Had he been at home, he'd probably drag himself to bed or simply collapse over the kitchen table but the point was, he wasn't at home. And more importantly: he wasn't alone.  
Silver's voice was distant and echoing in a way, like a dim sensation at the very edge of one's perception and Flint honestly did not realize how heavily he was leaning on the other. The rain did not feel cold anymore but it was annoying how it dripped from his hair and ran down his arms, Silver was cursing somewhere close by. Then there was another shift, the world turning and the rain stopping, the sound of a door falling close and then - nothing.

The next thing James was consciously aware of were echoing steps and the hard task of walking up stairs. He couldn't recall where those stairs had come from or how long they've been there, he couldn't tell whether it were hours or minutes that had passed but the world just wouldn't stop spinning.  
He reached for the wall to make it stop but instead his knee suddenly gave in beneath him and in the blink of an eye the floor was rushing towards him. Oddly enough the collision never happened though, instead there was a yell too close to be ignored. The words registered but quickly after forgotten again and the thought that someone could've have shouted /at him/ didn't even occur to James in that moment.  
"No need to fucking scream…"  
At least that's what he intended to say when someone pulled him to his feet again, he wasn't sure whether he had managed to form the right words.  
The stairs seemed never ending and Flint was convinced he was stuck in a bad dream. It all fit. The world was turning, he was running up endless stairs and there were echoes of someone shouting. A nightmare, probably. This one was new though.  
Something shiny caught his eyes and James stopped, trying to blink away the veil of blurry edges in his vision and leaned in to pick it up. It was a coin, a good omen. The masters of this particular nightmare were apparently willing to give him a chance.  
He grinned at the shiny coin in his hand and collapsed onto the cold stairs to look at it.

" 's silver, John..."  
A face from the coin was staring back at him and he was convinces it blinked. The fact that he was suddenly capable of saying his company's first name out loud entirely escaped his awareness. The fact that his mumbled words were pretty close to being a very bad pun was neither intended nor registered.  
A moment later he was back on his feet, stumbling up more stairs. Hours must have passed by the time a door was opened and closed behind him again - maybe days? How long had he wandered those stairs? Where was the silver coin he's found...?  
It was warm inside, warmer than it's been a moment ago. A push against his shoulder send him into a sitting position onto something soft - a couch or bed?  
Now that he wasn't moving anymore it was easier to focus. His pretty company closed the entrance door, James remembered the man's smile, bright and beautiful, but there was none of it now.  
He had turned his back on him and was leaving into the opposite direction of the room.  
In his current, rather fragile state, a sudden panic overcame Flint as he saw the other man turn to cross the room. It might just have been a few steps but to James it seemed to be miles forming between them.  
Fear clutched at his chest, making it harder to breathe.  
"Don't! Don't go, don't leave me!"  
When reaching out to try and grab the man who was too far away now, James realized he was still soaked, shirt sticking to his skin, occasional drops still dripping from messy strands of hair and then he felt cold, all of a sudden. As if the rain had finally caught up with him, the winds of autumn finally making themselves noticeable in his blurry memory.  
But that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that John still hadn't turned to look at him, still hadn't crosses the miles between them and returned to his side and the panic that suddenly held such a firm grip of James was clearly visible in his widened eyes and trembling hands.  
John couldn't leave, there was no way he'd walk away, cross what was left of this room and leave unbearable space between them.

 **Silver:**  
Silver really wasn't quite sure why he was being put through this, or why he was putting himself through this, but then he got the answer to that from the question. It was because it was him that he was doing this. He wouldn't have been able to leave the bar without taking the man with him, especially in this much of a state. London was a dangerous place at night, and leaving the man outside the bar in the pouring rain would have kept him up all night out of guilt. And no matter how much he wanted to argue his own reasoning away it wouldn't quite release itself from him.  
John could refuse the man sympathy because he had drank his way into the state he was in, but he couldn't just leave him after being privy to so much of it. No matter how much of an asshole he was when he was angry.

Plus they had completed more stairs than they had left, and he was determined to use every ounce of stubbornness and optimism to get to his fucking door, even if he threw up once he got there.  
He was beginning to feel more than a little ill through the sheer work involved in this.  
He hauled his company up the first half of the last few stairs, which in itself must have taken about five minutes. That sweetly alluring sandalwood and spice undertone that had earlier radiated from him had long since vanished from Flint. All he smelt of now was damp clothing and alcohol. He guessed they both did now.  
Who the fuck cared.  
The other stopped again without warning, practically dropping to his knees without any attempt to save his legs. Part of Silver was stupidly relieved for the pause. Most of him disagreed with that and would've preferred to beat him with his prosthetic.  
There were no words left for him to speak.  
None. His breath would be wasted and there was no point. He wasn't even sure if the other was still capable of listening. The man was more like a foal trying to find its feet. And he was shit at it.  
Flint’s voice suddenly appeared to find his mouth properly this time - evert previous attempt had merely been mumbles to his ears.

"What?" He snapped, at first merely thinking he had just been called for no reason in particular. But then he looked closer. Saw the shine of a dirty silver penny in the dimly lit stairway. And Silver bent down, thankfully heavily supported by cold concrete wall, until finally he was down at eye level with the other, and more importantly for some fucking reason - close enough to pick up the mighty penny.  
He was done with this completely. He gave a look to the other that made unimpressed an understatement as he reached down for the coin.  
It took a while, but once John was back on his feet he grabbed the other more than a little roughly and by the power of some unknown deity, dragged him up the last few stairs. He could have very realistically cried when they reached the top, but he kept it together, supporting the other’s arm and subsequent weight over his shoulders and keeping the man up until he unlocked the door and finally, finally, he got the other to his own bed and sat the man down onto it.  
He waited until his breathing was semi decent again before deciding to move, only to be stopped just when he reached his door again when the other started shouting at him. It was a panicked sound, like if he moved any further Flint would get lost in his dizzy little world forever.

Silver quite honestly couldn't have cared less. He was soaked to the bone from the rain and from sweat, aching too badly to properly express, he was grasping at the ruminants of what felt like his sanity, and for the love of god, he just wanted to sleep.  
Forget a foal. Flint seemed more like a bloody toddler.  
Hand running over his face to wipe it clean and massage his temples temporarily, John turned in his place to address his company.  
"I'm just going to get a couple of towels for us both, alright?" He purposefully as spoke loudly as he did bluntly as if it was the only way the words would drill themselves through the others state.  
And he turned again with that, pushing the entrance door shut and locking the door with a quiet click in conformation.  
John navigated his way through the dark apartment with a hand against the closest wall from there. In truth, he could have done it blindfolded - it really wasn't that much of a place. Everything was open plan but the bathroom and one pointlessly small storage room. Even the bedroom was open to the rest of the room, though Silver had managed to get a hold of a rather retro-styled open up screen that he only bothered using when he was hung over himself because it stopped a lot of the light coming in from the kitchen windows.  
The bathroom door was open from earlier though, and John stuck to his word with Flint, only having to reach around the door to grab the two closest towels on the rack there before making his way back to him and draping one of them over his shoulder.

"Take your clothes off."  
The towel was chucked down next to the other and John's tone was much softer now and much more like him. The anger had passed to be replaced with tiredness. He could feel it seeping through him, forcing its way around his body no matter how much he tried to reject it.  
It took a few moments of searching, but his foot did eventually hit the bedside lamps switch, instantly making the room appear warmer in the light's orangey haze.  
When John looked back at Flint though, he couldn't help but allow a small smile to creep back to him with a shake of his head.  
The man looked stuck by undoing a bloody button.  
In all fairness to him, he'd managed to do at least a couple of them - or were they already undone?  
"You're going to hate me tomorrow, aren't you?"  
He wasn't expecting a reply because in truth he was talking to himself. He was probably going to get a punch for each of the things he supposedly did wrong this evening, likely including bringing him here in the first place. Typical.  
He sighed then, pushing the other's hands away and replacing them with his own, pealing the fabric away from freckled skin with a few easy tugs and chucking it to the floor before wrapping the man up in his towel. "Kick your shoes off at least."

 **Flint:**  
Somehow Silver's words managed to reach Flint, which was unbelievable all by itself but James nodded, eventually, and let the other man go to the bathroom.  
The panic that had tugged his lungs tight in a cold grip slowly vanished, replaced by the silence in the room as soon as the door closed. He'd promised. He'd return in a bit.  
Seconds passed and James sat on the bed, unmoving, staring into nowhere. The ticking of the clock pulled at his mind, made the room vanish and replaced reality with memory.  
In his current state, Flint couldn't do anything about it happening. Not that he was consciously aware of it in the first place.  
No, he didn't notice how suddenly the room shifted and changed into another place, how the memory of the door closing caused another memory, a different one. It woke another voice in James' head, replaced the darkness of the room with bright blue eyes and a soft, small smile. Flint's eyes fell close, his breath shaky as he believed to hear a long gone voice. It carried him adrift, in a state somewhere between sleep and wake and when John entered the room again, James flinched like he was hit. The sudden entrance violently tearing his mind out of the place it had gotten lost in.  
It was luckily enough too dark in the room as that the other would have seen.

And yet, James was still not quite here. A part of him still stuck somewhere in those past memories.  
He was calmer now, quiet and so very tired all of a sudden. As if he hadn't slept in days.  
As Silver asked - or ordered? - him to take off his clothes, James couldn't do anything else but obey. However, that turned out being harder than expected. His shirt was soaked and the buttons so very small between his fingers. Frowning, he focused all his available attention - which, by all means, was very little - on opening those buttons and yet didn't manage more than two. Had they always been this small?  
He hadn't noticed how Silver had switched on the small lamp, the orange light making all of the surroundings seem even more surreal to Flint.  
It was then that another's fingers replaced his own upon his shirt. James hadn't seen Silver close in nor had he heard his steps though that probably shouldn't be as surprising as it appeared to him.  
The bed beneath him was so very comfortable, the light warm and alluring in a way and James couldn't prevent the smile that stole itself onto his face. He watched in a daze how the other's fingers made quick work of the buttons, listened to that impossibly soft voice without catching the meaning behind the words but it was of no matter to him at the moment.  
The shirt was off in little time and replaced by something warmer and much drier. By now James really just wanted to sleep. He kicked off his shoes, not because the other had asked so - he hadn't been listening, really - but because you didn't go to bed in your shoes, no matter how you felt. It was unacceptable in a way. Just like there was no excuse for not folding one's clothes.  
Yes, James liked things neat and tidy and just where they should be.

Reaching out for the towel around his shoulders, he wrapped it tighter around himself. Silver's priory spoken words finally received meaning in his clouded mind, and it was with quite a delay that James answered:  
"I could never hate you"

The words were spoken quietly but with utter and genuine fondness and when James smiled up at his company then, he was a changed man. The fondness that has been so evident in his voice was clearly there in his eyes and the look he gave Silver.  
Though it was questionable whether that look was meant for Silver.  
James was still somewhere else, stuck in a place his alcohol-veiled mind had tugged him into and John's blue eyes were so oddly familiar that James got it all mixed up; past and present, the one he's once loved and the one he had met in a car crash weeks ago for the very first time. Yes, the fondness and care he had expressed towards Silver just a moment ago, with a phrase as simple as the one he'd just voiced, was utterly genuine but it had never been meant for Silver in the first place.  
They stayed like this for a moment in silence, staring at each other in the silence of the room until tiredness tugged at Flint and he didn't find the strength to sit up anymore. Slumping down onto the bed, towel still wrapped around him, head upon the pillow, James sighed a breath of relief and closed his eyes. It was only mere moments until he had fallen asleep, still draped in one of Silver's towels.  
The next morning would be hell. It'd be loud and painful and agonizing and embarrassing. He'd feel like shit and he'd hate himself for all of the things he's done and hasn't done, he'd also hate John without really having a reason to.  
But Flint could not know of this yet. For now he was asleep, comfortable and safe, and all the things that were yet to come when morning dawned were out of reach.

  
**Silver:**  
Well that had gone much better than expected. Flint actually seemed to register his voice, something that seemed to come back to the man when they weren't also trying to concentrate on another particularly hard task like walking. Maybe it was only now that he'd registered that this was their destination too, because he did manage to kick off his shoes rather efficiently, one of the shoes bouncing off of his prosthetic with an uncomfortably hollow knocking sound.  
Wait, what?  
John glanced down at himself, dwindling attention caught off guard by the fact that although clearly hearing that horribly subtle sound and knowing what was hidden beneath his damp jean trousers, he swore he actually just felt that shoe hit him as if it was hitting flesh and muscle and nerve endings. He'd had experiences in the while that he'd lost his leg before. They were horrible and painful and there was nothing he could do until those experiences past. But this was so simple and gentle in comparison.  
He frowned to himself, blinking away his confusion on what simply had to be a trick of the mind after becoming to worn out. Because it obviously couldn't have been anything else.  
Movement from the very peripheral of his vision brought him out of his thoughts and back to his guest with attempt at holding the towel against himself, strong freckled forearm nicely contrasted by the fluffy cocoa of the material.

John could only blink again at the other with his words. He'd almost completely missed that the sound that just come from Flint had been a tangible sentence until he registered the look on his face, it taking a few moments after that to realize he had replied to his comment.  
Flint looked caught - somewhere between this world and somewhere completely away from here. The other looked closer to needing a hug in reassurance for something only he would know than anything more fitting for the mess he was in. Well, actually, that was a lie. He'd seen more than a handful of people cry at the pub after something as stupid as spilling a drink. But they were loud and brash. Flint had spoken quietly, with a sincerity that was impossible to ignore.  
They stared at each other for more than a few moments - Silver trying to comprehend in what alternate universe this version of Flint had come from, whilst Flint stared back tired-eyed and messy. And it was him that brought any possible conversation to a close simply by laying back and adjusting himself to the softness of pillows and thick duvet.  
Well, if that wasn't the strangest way to end a second meeting John didn't know what would be.  
Now where had he last placed the spare pillows?


	4. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James awakens in John's apartment and nobody is quite certain how to handle the situation

  
**Silver:**  
The next morning came about slowly. It was still raining outside and the sound of the droplets pounding against the windows in the kitchen could be heard clearly, and John could have sworn he'd heard the occasional crack of thunder off somewhere in the distance. It had taken a while to get his day started; practically dragging himself off of his sofa and out of the barrage of pillows, throws and blankets he'd managed to gather together just before passing out from exhaustion.  
But once he was up, he was feeling a hell of a lot better.   
Not only had he managed to not only have a shower and clean up from the night prior, but now, sat with empty plate pushed away from him from where he was placed at the table, he sat absentmindedly glancing through an old paper and his hands around a large mug of hot chocolate with hair messy, thick grey cardigan covering loosely fitting white V-neck and bright red sweatpants simply because the combination screamed ultimate comfort. The radio was on in the background, too. Or well, to Silver it was background noise - he'd turned it up rather loud, and some happy sounding punk rock managed to beat out the sound of the rain and he hummed along to it, unable to recall the name of it.  
But even that didn't quite drown out the noise of movement at the other end of the apartment. Well at least the man wasn't dead - it was practically half 11 now, after all, not that the other would have any clue of that yet. Silver consciously chose not to register the man until he was talked to directly just to save another few more quiet moments of his morning.  
He at least deserved that for putting up with the others troubles, and he really didn't want to spark any argument up simply by saying something as terribly civil as 'good morning'.

  
**Flint:**  
James woke to a way too loud radio and a very bad headache. The room was still dark and despite the fact that the clock showed 15 to 11, Flint felt like it   
was 5 in the morning.  
What date was it anyway? Oh right, it was 'the morning after'. That's the name he had given the day after Thomas's birthday ever since he'd started drinking on said day.  
'The morning after' was arguably the worst day of the year.  
Flint forced himself into a sitting position, muttering a curse under his breath when something shifted behind his temples and started hitting against the inside of his skull with what could only be hammers. Fuck.  
For a moment he just sat on the bed, head in hands, trying to adjust to the heavy feeling of his limbs, the sore throat and the pain in his head.  
It was raining outside and yet James felt warm. He also felt in need of a shower and a hot cup of coffee.  
It was difficult to get up but James managed. He did not require a mirror to know just how bad he looked when he left the room - the room of Mr. Silver's apartment, as he only realized when seeing the other at the kitchen table.  
Memories from last night were blurry and vague but he remembered enough to be able to connect the dots.  
Brilliant.

"Jesus, turn that shit down."  
The radio was way too loud and James' words were closer to begging than to commanding. Coffee. Where was the fucking coffee.  
He hadn't bothered to put on a shirt, why should he anyway. Except for the small collection of scars and a way larger amount of freckles, there wasn't anything about himself he'd feel self-conscious about. Not at the current moment anyway.  
"Do you have any coffee in this house?"  
He went through all shelves and doors of the kitchen until he found mugs and picked one out, throwing six pieces of sugar into it.  
No, he didn't care that it was unhealthy to drink coffee with this much sugar. This was how he drank his coffee.  
Apropos - there was coffee.  
James filled his cup and sat down opposite Silver, waiting until the sugar had dissolved.  
The silence between them was heavy but Flint used it to collect himself, sort out what he could remember from last night and-...wait....  
His eyes jumped up towards John, his glare being even more intense now that his messed up hair and overall terrible state were adding to it.  
"Did you drive my car?"  
There was a warning in this question, immediately creating tension in the air. It was both a warning to tell the truth and also a warning that screamed 'if you drove my car I will murder you', so really no matter what Silver would say, James wouldn't like the answer either way. Fingers closed around the mug, eyes fixed on John, shoulders tense.  
Should Silver want to try and run, there'd be no escaping. James would definitely be faster.

  
**Silver:**  
John should have guessed that the first thing the other had to say was about the music. The other likely had a disgustingly bad headache and honestly he was surprised that the other hadn't thrown up by now. And it wasn't that Silver wanted the other man to wake up as much as he had just become fed up with trying to be quiet around him.  
And just maybe he wanted Flint’s headache to be that little bit worse. Which was odd really, because he could only guess how much more grumpy he would get.  
There were pros and cons to everything.  
Before doing anything though, Silver took the time to drink down a healthy amount of his delightfully hot liquid. And yes, maybe he's put a couple of marshmallows in there - who was counting? - before reluctantly stretching out of the position he had been sitting in on his chair. Doing so didn't immediately make him feel cold which was a good thing, but by the time he nudged his prosthetic out of the cross-legged position that it had been placed into, he noticed that there was still quite a chill in the air.  
Or at least he thought so, because when Flint appeared in the kitchen, he was topless.  
"Aren't you cold?" Was what John found to have come out of his mouth before he could really stop it. He might have been staring. Maybe.  
Jesus Christ the man had a ton of freckles.

He shook himself out of what was probably a rather prolonged gawk by that point to the other rather than a stare and lent back in his chair enough to grab hold of the controller from the radio that he'd left on the counter top, turning the radio down a few clicks but keeping it with him so Flint couldn't turn it down completely - he was rather enjoying what was being played.  
And Silver was about to answer the man's question by telling him exactly where he kept his coffee, but Flint seemed to have that covered by going through every damn available cupboard and drawer within his reach.  
Making himself at home was one thing, but this?  
John sighed quietly into his mug, vapor escaping and covering his nose and cheeks with a thin veil of water in doing so. He was prepared for the man to just flip out and throw something and he was beginning to feel a little tense. It started in his chest, a slight tugging that progressively got worse and worse until the man was sat opposite him and-  
He must have jumped a little when the other spoke because his heart thumped within him too strongly to be ignored. It didn't improve when he met the others eyes. The beast was back and Christ did he look pissed.  
He swallowed; only able to stand looking at the messy haired man for a few seconds before giving in to what was again burning straight into his head. He thought about lying, but what would be the point in that? The bloody car was downstairs. The keys weren't in the man's possession any more even if he didn't know that yet, and even though he knew he'd done the right thing, Flint was likely going to be angry at him whatever he said.

So yeah. He was pretty fucked starting from now.  
"Yes," Silver replied eventually, putting as much courage as he could put into the words he was speaking as he could muster, "I did-"  
A moment of heavy silence, a chance to catch a breath. "-but I can assure you, the car isn't damaged."  
There was a change in Flint. A movement, something. He hadn't quite caught what even though he was looking at the other. It was enough to get him to move too, though. John pushed his chair away from the table with him still on it, one hand raised in gesture to try and pause whatever the man on the opposite side of the table was thinking of doing, and the other gripping the table in case he should need to get himself up quickly. It didn't click that he wouldn't get very far before the other inevitably caught up - this was more of a gut reaction. A flight response to someone who could very likely do him some damage.  
"I was just trying to help."

  
**Flint:**  
Yes.  
That one single word, followed by a heavy and tense silence.  
Flint's hand tightened around the mug as he thought about all the things that could have gone wrong. How was someone who only had one leg even allowed to have a license?  
But then another thought crossed James' mind - who had seen them?  
He moved, just the slightest up from his chair and into the other's direction just when Silver raised a hand in defense.  
Just that what he said next only made it worse.  
"You shit"  
His head ached and the thought that one of the neighbors could have seen them was unacceptable.  
"You can't just take another's car and fucking drive it!"  
And then he was up on his feet and walking towards John, clearly not out for a hug.  
Apparently Silver had expected this to happen because he was already standing, too, now both hands rose in defense. Backing away slowly though James was certain the other was ready to jump up and flee from his own apartment if necessary, he could read it in the man's body language, the tense muscles and the position of his legs.  
"Help? How was taking my car and risking to ruin it supposed to be helpful?!"

He was yelling now, his voice jumped up higher and made his own headache worse but with the adrenaline in his blood he could deal with it for now.  
But then there was another thought that abruptly made Flint stop where he was. His memories were lacking at best and even if his life would depend on it, he wouldn't be able to tell exactly what had happened yesterday. But John probably could. John knew.  
Flint froze in place, hand fidgeting with the rings on his fingers, a nervous habit.  
"But we didn't..."  
Clearing his throat he tried again, this time not being able to look at the other anymore. A frown upon his face, eyes avoiding the other.  
"Nothing happened, right?"  
Well that was anything but clear but James assumed that Silver would be able to grasp the meaning.  
Jesus, there was no way anything had happened between them, right? Yes, okay, he's been drunk but they couldn't have possibly... it was Thomas' birthday, there was no way in hell James could have allowed himself.....this.  
Yes, okay, Silver's curls were without question gorgeous and yes, maybe he did look stunning in that fucking cardigan, but no way. Never.  
James felt like this was the worst day he's had in the last 10 years of his life.

  
**Silver:**  
Fuck.  
No really, fuck.  
He'd tried. He'd fucking tried to explain but John knew this would happen, the tense air gave it away and he wasn't ready for this. Not now, not ever.  
Flint got up with the last of his comments, powerful beast commanding both fear and respect in the most painfully obvious of ways. He had probably walked into the other calling him what he did, but Christ when he actually got up, vision locked on him like some skilled and deadly predator, Silver had no choice but to get up too. And it wasn't solely because he didn't want to be caught. His legs took him before he'd even realized he was up. His hand joined the other instinctively, too.  
John was utterly helpless and the only thing standing in the other man's way was a bloody table.  
"For fuck’s sake, you could hardly walk! It was the only thing I had!" He shouted again. He was scared if he was being honest with himself. This tank of a man was still glaring at him and now he was completely and utterly stuck.  
He considered his options. There were two ways around the table to hopefully dodge the now rather red-faced and angry man, and even if he could make it past Flint there, then what? What the hell could he possibly do? The door was locked - he remembered that from last night, remembered the much more accepting and fragile Flint that had managed to get Silver to do the unthinkable thing of /liking/ the man. Wished to god something would bring that man back a little quicker than the alcohol had seemed to.  
So really, unless there was some miracle that stuck the older man to the floor by the soles of his feet, there was no way he was getting out unscathed.   
He simply wouldn't be able to fumble with keys and still manage to get out of his own apartment.

No matter how hard John tried, there was an undeniable sense of helplessness that washed over him. This never happened. He never got stuck like this and had no way out.  
Surely anything was worth a go in this situation then, wasn't it?  
But Flint had paused. Something in had just so slightly shifted but it was enough to be able to breathe again. He looked…Well Silver didn't know. Thoughtful maybe?  
Flint started a sentence. John caught a thousand meanings to it but by the time he had sifted through them the other had clarified what he'd just realized.  
John's expression changed to a confused one as soon as his brain had processed the words he was hearing. He blinked once, twice. Swallowed again.  
"What?" He blurted out the words before he could catch them. But this time he didn't really mean to catch them. There were so many new questions. His hands faltered and slowly, eventually, lowered.  
Had Flint truly been that drunk? Had he had such a bad day that he wanted to forget it and apparently the rather pleasant evening talking with the other.  
Did Flint actually believe he would take advantage of someone in his state?  
"-No!"

His denial came with a sharp shake of the head. It was the only thing he could manage to materialize. There were still too many questions - like for instance, why the hell that question even went through Flint's head. Or why he was so oddly less angry now. Silver just stared at the man, less from pure panic now. He just sort of stared, glance flicking over the man in his state.  
Sure, there might have been a trace and completely random thought to count those pretty freckles all across Flint's skin even now he was stuck in this godawful situation, and yes, he did really quite enjoy how the man looked in that stupid pirate hat, and ye-  
Stop.  
"By the time I dragged you up the stairs with that bloody penny you were about ready to pass out, and I slept on the couch."  
Maybe the smile he didn't hold back shouldn't have been there then. But it was, considering the stupidity of the evening in hindsight.  
"Nothing happened."

  
**Flint:**  
There was silence, yet again but this time the tension in the air was one that made James uncomfortable. If there'd be a God left he believed in, he'd be praying now. When exactly had his life turned into a mess? Ten years ago, from one moment to the next? Or had it developed with time, slowly creeping up to him, lurking in the shadows of his living room and at the bottom of every empty bottle.  
This was pathetic. The fact alone that he actually had to ask this question was pathetic.  
The silence stretched, ready to snap and James feared its outcome. He feared it with an intensity that shouldn't be.  
But then Silver shook his head, his denial so sharp that it had to be true.  
And James breathed a quiet breath of relief.  
He wondered then, for a moment, what he'd done had Silver not denied. Had he nodded. Or gave a stupid grin or anything that could even in the slightest have indicated that something had happened between them, were it only a thoughtless kiss.  
James wondered what he'd done in that case but he could not come up with any punishment for himself bad enough to be fitting in that situation.  
Nodding, he buried his face in his hands, momentarily surrendering to the concern and panic and overall weight that had so heavily pushed down on his shoulders and lungs a moment ago.  
Then, when he looked up, he nodded again. Once, twice. As if to convince himself that everything was alright.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket he took a look at the display simply to have something else to look at, to have an excuse not to face Silver for just a minute longer. Three missed calls, one message. He typed in the code to unlock the screen when suddenly the display turned black. Maybe he should have charged his phone yesterday. Great. 

Sighing he placed it back in his pocket, having collected himself enough to face the other man again and just so catching the other staring at him. It did not take all too long for Silver to catch himself though and James listened to the man's words in silence, taking in the soft smile and the messy hair now actually spilling over the wide shoulders that were covered by a very nicely fitting gray cardigan. The red sweatpants that were the absolutely worst thing James had ever seen in his entire life, and finally those oceans that were John Silver's eyes.  
And Flint caught himself thinking just how beautifully it all fit together, just how perfect the dark mess of curls framed those eyes and that smile, how even those hideous sweatpants looked just right on the other.  
And then James swallowed and forced that realization into a faraway corner of his mind. Guilt immediately silencing the awe towards this man that had struck him like lightning. Shame whispered bitter tasting things to him and it breathed its poison and tugged and shifted until it managed to make him feel bad about each single positive thought he'd ever dared to think about Silver.  
And despite all of that, he just couldn't tear his eyes off the other.  
But at least he stopped actively staring.

"Hope the couch wasn't too uncomfortable."  
There was a hint of a smile forming with these words, the faintest indication of an apology as Flint suddenly realized that it must have been one hell of a night for John, too. Not only did he have to drag him to the car and drive him here but also help him up the stairs which probably hadn't been the easiest thing for Silver, or would have been for anyone. But especially Silver.  
"If you touch my car without my allowance again, I will break your ribs."  
The smile vanished, eyes darkening and focusing sharply on the other man again but this time the threat was merely a warning lingering around the edges, the anger no more than a reflection upon the surface.  
James meant what he said regardless though.  
He stood for another moment before returning to his coffee, slumping down on the chair.  
Headache bothering him and now that his anger had clearly dimmed down, he just felt miserable.

  
**Silver:**  
Silver was stunned, honestly.  
Stunned at the brilliant and vivid emotions the other kept inside of himself. Normally there would be some sort of baseline emotion. Something to allow him to work with and understand as if it was some tangible thing. Flint had no such baseline, in fact, John was struggling to actually believe the man had one. Never could he recall having to switch his own emotions so many times in a short period.   
Scared, a little angered, and now, looking at the man trying to keep himself together and suddenly so much less of the beast he so often liked to intimidated him with, Silver caught himself almost wanting to feel sorry for the man. And he hated feeling that for other people simply because he hated getting it from others. Maybe he shouldn't be so quick to shut off his own emotions like that, to deny someone else what they might need.  
But then he didn't really believe Flint was looking for anything like that from him in the first place. No, he knew that.   
That realization came to him instantly. The man was much too stubborn to even consider showing someone like John under and normal circumstance.  
Flint had understood him thankfully, taking the truth as just that which probably saved him a lot more trouble than he could properly comprehend. Still, it took John a few more moments to begin to relax back to his previous state, to let stiff muscles out of their tense grip on his body.

The other checked his phone quickly and Silver had trouble trying not to guess who was on the other end of whatever - if anything - had been waiting for him on the screen. A partner? A college working at the radio station, or perhaps even someone he would never hear the name of. There was an odd pull to thinking of the first option.   
He kicked the thought out of his conscious mind as quickly as it had decided to make the situation between them that little bit more awkward again. But really, why would have that made it awkward at all? They really hadn't done anything inappropriate if Flint did have another person to worry about, and what did he have to loose even if something had happened and it had been a partner on the phone?   
He really needed to stop thinking about it.   
Silver reached over the chair he had become closest to and slid his half-empty mug back over to him, taking another couple of sips from it before placing it on the counter. It had seemed they had circled the table in completion whilst in their conflict, which was quite funny really, even when it felt so serious just a moment ago.  
The other's next comment just aided to bring the smile back to his face, a slight huff leaving him in faint amusement. Silver appreciated the comment and he knew that any comment back to pick out what he suspected was apology would lead to nowhere good. But he knew that, and Christ even he wasn't stupid enough to say anything like that again now.  
"Wasn't the worst sleep I've had."

That was the truth. Actually it had been more of an understatement. The crazy workout Flint had managed to challenge him with made sleeping a breeze - something it hadn't been in…well, he didn't know how long. Months, maybe. He hadn't really been counting the days he'd woken up late because of it.  
He listened to the warning he had been issued but it didn't wipe the smile from him completely this time. He was beginning to understand the man and when truly to be scared. This wasn't one of those times.   
Plus, when would he ever want to drive something so difficult for him again anyway?   
And Silver watched as the other sank back down to his chair opposite again, messy amber hair dropping as if it would hide the older man's face and the terrible expression on it. Luckily for Flint he could relate to that face - he saw it staring back at him in the bathroom mirror on occasion. It wasn't Silver as much as it wasn't Flint now.  
With a push from the chair he had for only a brief moment been leaning on, Silver turned and found after a moment of rummaging through correct cupboard, turned again and dropped a packet of aspirin onto the table next to the man’s mug. John didn't see if there had been any reaction to that though, because he wandered off for a few moments.   
He took his time to return, but once he had sat down and had given Flint enough of a look to hopefully ignite something like curiosity in him, Silver finally gave it away - dirty little five pence piece was pushed across the table straight at the other, stopping a good few centimeters away from Flint's edge of the table.   
"I think you should keep that, considering how much you seemed to want it."

  
**Flint:**  
Things settled into a more relaxed state again, smile lingering upon Silver's pretty lips while James was as thankful for a coffee as he doubted he'd ever been before.  
There was a sound close to him and Flint looked up to find a packet of aspirin on the table in front of him. How considerate.  
He took two and swallowed them right there with his coffee, eyes following John as the man got up and left for a moment.  
Upon the other's return to the table, the man's blue eyes fixed on him in a way that indicated something unspoken yet and James frowned, unable to deny that he was getting curious about what was going on.  
Just when he was about to roll his eyes and snap at the other to just speak up already, Silver pushed a coin across the table towards him and Flint needed a moment to realize what this was about.  
The gesture was stupid but he had to chuckle anyway, a grin momentarily crossing his features as he picked up the stupid pence piece and turned it in his fingers.  
He gave the other a look somewhere between amused and questioning - are you serious? - but eventually just shook his head and accepted the coin.  
They spend about half an hour in the kitchen, drinking their drinks and talking about random things. Or well, mostly Silver did the talking and James listened.  
When the coffee was empty and James felt a little bit better, he asked John to use his phone since his had apparently died because he'd forgotten to charge it.  
Silver agreed and James retreated to the bedroom for a moment to call Miranda. She was probably about ready to murder him by now.  
"Hey, yes, it's me-.."  
he proceeded to tell her that he'd be home soon, apologizing for having been gone but didn't go into detail. She could probably hear last night in his scratchy voice but she did not need to know about Silver.

Apropos Silver, while James paced up and down the room and talked to Miranda, he was not quite aware of the fact that there wasn't really a door that would have separated the bedroom from the rest of the apartment and thus guaranteed that Silver wouldn't hear him.  
It did not cross his mind that John might have been listening to him, might have heard the affection in his voice and the genuine apology.  
All in all the talk didn't last too long. Miranda sounded exhausted and concerned but she would get over it, though James recommended her to rest a little longer.  
Ending the call with a promise to come home soon, he handed the phone back to Silver.  
Everything else went smoothly though it was a little awkward. James got dressed and received back his car keys from the other. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence at the door before they parted and James went down the stairs the other had been dragging him up yesterday.  
At least John had said the truth - the car appeared to be undamaged and the engine started without any difficulty. Flint had, of course, not asked John for directions and so it took him about 5 more minutes of just sitting in his car and looking through his maps to find the street he was currently at and how to get home.  
Eventually he managed better than first expected though, reaching his house in under an hour.  
It was only when he had already parked the car and gotten out that he spotted something on the back seats. With a frown he opened the back door and froze in place for a moment.

It was the hat. It was the fucking pirate hat.


	5. Me flirting: I got you a coffee, can we date yet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James decides to return the pirate hat to John and things go smoother than planned

  
**Flint:**  
Early evening, cold wind but no rain. The leather jacket didn't keep him warm and despite the warm boots, James shivered in the autumn air. Pirate hat in one hand, pumpkin spice latte in the other (still hot), he stood in front of the 'Black Sails' and pondered over whether he really had to go inside.  
The place was way quieter than it's been last time he's been here. Which was probably understandable since it wasn't even 6 yet.  
James had finished work early today, mostly he's been driving around and doing research work. It was one of those more exciting days of his work, interviewing oblivious people and finding a legal way into high security buildings. And it's been a quite successful workday, too.  
He looked back towards his bike which he had parked across the street - today the bike had been more useful than the car, and also, having planned to come here, he wasn't sure whether he ever wanted to have his car near Mr. Silver again - and then to the coffee in his hand. Was it appropriate to bring coffee? Was that too much? Was pumpkin spice okay?  
Flint sighed heavily, wondering how long he's been already standing here.  
This was ridiculous.

Getting a grip, he pushed open the door.  
He had been right, the place was by far not as full as he remembered it. Though the few people that were here had already a pint of ale in front of them on the tables. Early drinkers.  
Mr. Silver was nowhere to be seen and for a moment Flint considered to just place the hat on the counter and leave, maybe Silver didn't even have any shift today.  
A small man tore him out of his thoughts, a towel in his hands he was leaning against the bar, looking towards Flint almost suspiciously.  
"Can I help ye?"  
He sounded Scottish. Probably. James wasn't sure.  
Apparently he's been standing in the middle of the room for a while already because the man was staring at him as if trying to judge whether he was a madman or not.  
James cleared his throat and stepped up to the man.  
"I'm looking for John Silver? I need to return something to him."

There was a moment of silence and then the other man smiled, which eased Flint's nervousness. Why was he even nervous? He was just here to return the fucking hat.  
The man, apparently Silver's work colleague, seemed to be quite fond of John if the smile and enthusiastic tone of his voice indicated anything.  
So apparently Silver was on break taking a smoke - James had actually forgotten about the fact that the other did indeed smoke.  
It took little convincing to get the man to tell him where Silver was and hand him a key to the door on the third floor. Or maybe it only took little convincing because James was good at making people do what he wanted them to do.  
Key in hand he went upstairs, each stair that he came closer to the third floor made him doubt his decision to have come here but then there was the door and it'd just be ridiculous to turn back now.  
James took a breath and unlocked it, pushing it open with his shoulder.  
The third floor was quite obviously not accessible to guests of the bar and as James stepped in, crossing the room with quiet steps, he felt like really he probably shouldn't be here. Which was funny because his work required him to constantly be in places he shouldn't be in and it had never bothered him.  
He spotted the man he's been looking for on the balcony, a cigarette between his fingers.  
James hesitated for a moment, looking towards the coffee in his hand and the fluent black letters that spelled out 'James' across the white of the cup. Stupid Starbucks just had to ask for his name, right? Because how could one possibly make a coffee without knowing the customer's name.  
Silver's hair was tied into a messy bun again; two or three lose strands of hair softly moving in the wind. James stared at the back of the other's neck for a moment - maybe his eyes had dropped lower than Silver's neck for a second, but only maybe and only shortly! - and then moved.  
Not knowing what to say, he instead reached out and touched the man's shoulder to catch his attention.  
"You forgot this, I thought you might need it."  
He gestured with the hat. Or rather he would have if Silver wouldn't have jumped like he's been hit, seeming more than just surprised to see James.

  
**Silver:**  
This was John's little slice of heaven.  
Colleagues judged him at first for his decision to venture up into the top floor of the premises. There was some old ghost story like there was to any old building, though it had been out of curiosity at first that took him up there rather than the chance at catching sight of some unknown specter. His manager had rather blankly explained on more than one occasion that it was primarily used for storage and, how, like every disused space, likely stored more dust than valuables by now. Silver accepted that, took the man's word as the truth, but even still, he couldn't just ignore the space until he'd at least had a look at it.  
And that was when he found his favorite place. There were tables stacked high draped with moth ruined sheets, old antique chairs sat rotting and broken and plastered with webs, and there had definitely been enough dust to say that no one had even cared to open the door to this hidden paradise.  
But it was beautiful.  
It had become a ritual from that moment onwards to visit the space, every day taking with him something that left an utterly confused expression on anyone who cared to notice him heading back up those stairs - a broom, a hammer and superglue, and even a few odd panes of colored glass were amongst his ever-growing kit. The task in itself had given Silver a lot of satisfaction simply because he tended to like fixing things.  
John had long since finished the area that equated to around a quarter of floor space, area totally rid of dust and a handful of chairs and tables refurbished back to its former glory.  
And he stood amongst it once more, as he did every day, the oh so soothing rush from each drag of a cigarette slowly dwindling down between his fingers, resilient to the cold wind that clawed at him from the heat he had stored working in the confines behind the bar downstairs, headphones in and watching the sun reappear through the clouds as it set above the busy city that called for him to go and join the rest of the people below and enjoy his evening.  
But he already was enjoying it. Mostly.

Something had been bugging him lately.  
It shouldn't have been, but his mind just couldn't let go of whoever Flint had called that morning.  
There had been such a genuine tone to his voice - soft and truthful and sorry. Silver couldn't grasp who it could be that had such control over a man so fiercely aggressive and reckless. And how, starting from a few hours after being left rather empty in his own apartment through the lack of his strange company, cryptic texts had begun distracting him. From working - from sleeping.  
They had been rather vague, even now, but John had caught on rather quickly to who this must have been. He knew the messages had meant something and who it was had one particular man in common.  
That the person on the end of that phone call with Flint was this person - now gently persuading him to do what was practically unthinkable.  
He felt a touch then and shit, did it scare him. His whole body turned in response, he dropped his cigarette over the edge and Silver felt like if he hadn't have been holding on to the railing of the balcony he might have just knocked himself straight over it, too.  
The sight he came to process shifted fright to utter confusion. He practically ripped out his headphones upon recognizing the other.  
"Flint?" He breathed, taught muscles relaxing again and swallowing hard and trying to keep a lid on how heavily his body wanted him to be breathing. He pushed himself up into a better stance quickly then, collecting himself rather well considering he'd nearly fallen three floors down to the pavement.  
"Wha- how did you fi..- who le-" But apparently he suddenly lacked the ability to follow his composure through to his voice. He could only sigh in frustration at that performance.  
At least that gave him time to form a bloody sentence.  
"Why are you here?"  
Great one, Silver. Great one.  
If the man didn't think you annoying before, now you can't even get your words out?

Wait.  
Silver's gaze flicked over the other - slower now that he at least knew that he wasn't in any immediate danger - but still only giving himself just enough time to process the man in front of him.  
Really? The confusion leaked from Silver's features only to be replaced with an amused smile with an increasing speed.  
Two things struck him then.  
The bloody pirate hat and that jacket.  
And John decided immediately to call it that jacket because fuck, well, look at him.  
Silver let out a chuckle before he'd realized it had started from him - he was too busy staring. There was also a slight flicker warmth in him, pitted in the depths of his chest, that the man would take the time out of his day just to return something so useless back to him. He couldn't even blame it on the drink this time. Not that you would have ever noticed that with everything else he was doing.  
"You, uh-" Dragging his eyes up to the other's was much more of a task than he'd ever care to let on to anyone. "-you came here just to give me my hat back?"

  
**Flint:**  
Well, that was anything but a pleasant welcome.  
James arched his eyebrow, again finding himself thinking he probably rather shouldn't have come here but then there was that look Silver gave him, or rather the stare.  
What was that stare about? Was something wrong with his jacket?  
Flint looked down on himself but couldn't spot anything that could have been reason enough to stare like that.  
He decided that Silver was probably just startled - apparently he hadn't heard him coming in.  
"A simple 'hello' would've done the trick, you know."  
He wasn't really offended, actually he was quite amused but the way Silver spit out his name and then his following question made it sound pretty much like Mr. Silver really didn't want to see him.  
He also didn't seem to be capable of meeting his eye, at least for quite a while and James waited until the other man was actually looking at him to speak up again.  
"Your colleague let me in. The small, Scottish one? And uh...yes."  
Well, okay, maybe he hadn't come here only to return the hat. But there was no way Flint was going to admit, not even to himself, that he had come here to just see the other again.  
He cleared his throat.  
Well, this was turning out to be more awkward than expected.

"I eh....got you coffee. Well, it's a latte. Pumpkin spice. I don't know whether that's your thing but I thought that...-"  
Yea, he thought what exactly?  
"Fuck whatever I thought. Here."  
He almost shoved the coffee into the other's hand and taking another look at the letters upon the cup it suddenly strike him that Silver probably didn't even know that his first name was James. Well, now he did.  
It was almost funny to think that the man would learn his first name from a Starbucks cup. Almost.  
Once the other had taken the cup, Flint felt a little stuck in place. Leaving now would be weird and frankly, he didn't want to leave just yet. But he also didn't really have an excuse to stay any longer, especially since Silver was at work.  
He also had the odd urge to justify himself for actually being here.  
Placing the pirate hat upon Silver's head, Flint looked towards the man's hand in which he's been holding the cigarette a moment ago.  
"Could I have one, too?"  
...where had that come from? He didn't smoke. The last time he's actually taken a drag from a cigarette must have been ages ago. He might have been 16 or younger.  
But there was something that made Flint say these words. Just as there was something that prevented him from leaving.  
Maybe he just felt like he owed Silver something after the man had dragged him up the stairs and let him sleep at his place. Yes, that must be it. There couldn't possibly be another reason for why exactly James had thought it necessary to appear here in person and return the stupid hat.

  
**Silver:**  
Silver couldn't contain the smile that only widened with the other man's words. Flint had apparently been waiting for their eyes to meet before he began talking again - which, because of his own distraction - had made a rather prolonged pause. It hadn't been awkward for John simply because his mind had been on other - and very important - details. He shook his head to himself lightly, cool hand running over the back of his neck like the drop in temperature there would pull him away from the thoughts that sat so happily at the forefront of his mind.  
It was a little harder to push said thoughts out when they were on the man a mere few feet away, but it was still a manageable task.  
Just.  
Still, John purposefully kept enough attention on the other in those moments to listen to him as he disconnected his earphones from his phone and shoved them back into his pocket. And when he heard the vague description of the man who'd let him up past where most shouldn't enter, he looked back up at Flint when he recognized who that man happened to be.  
"Muldoon let you up here?"  
It was more a question to himself.

What in the hell had Flint done to get such easy access from Muldoon? That man, although small, was one fierce personality. Every thought and decision from that man had a passion that Silver could see was as true as what he spoke. And that had included being rather protective of him. Just about everyone working at The Black Sails were, especially in the time after he had lost his leg. But Muldoon was like that a long while before his incident. Of course they had their fall outs like any pair stuck together for so many hours, but Silver had to admit that he had probably become one of his favorite people.  
The man had one hell of a sense of humor, and an iron stomach much the same as Flint seemed to have.  
His thought was broken by the cup being pushed in his direction. Silver looked at it, glance momentarily flicking to meet the other’s eyes, then to his hand and the freckles and rings upon it, before taking it from him - hands brushing without too much thought of it on his side of things. And he simply nodded as a first response because he was a little stunned.  
Was he drunk now? Was it him that was in some sort of vivid dreaming state and his imagination was being kind to him?  
Flint was being kin-  
Wait.  
Silver caught a glimpse of scruffy and large black marker just under his fingers. Quickly he rolled the cup between his hands, warmth emitting from it enough to make John want to drink the whole thing whether he liked what was in it or not.  
James?  
And then it clicked.

The man's name was James and why the hell had he not thought to check that before seeing it on the side of a bloody coffee cup? Why had he been so content with just using the man's last name? But there hadn't been any attempt from James to actually admit his first name to him directly for whatever reason until now.  
If this was some sort of apology, Silver would have to make sure to help the man more often in those sorts of situations.  
"Thank you."  
John's words came as more of a double meaning by the time he had said them as he took a sip from the cup, because Flint had placed the pirate hat that he was quickly coming to like back on his head. He readjusted it a little rather quickly after it had been put there, brushing a rather annoying lock of curls behind his ear.

There was a cheer from somewhere downstairs, the vibrations of it and the music being played faintly felt beneath his good foot, and for the first time feeling a couple of faints beats of the awkwardness that James looked like he had been feeling for the duration of their meeting.  
And Silver wasn't happy with leaving the other to feel like that.  
He moved, taking another sip of the beautifully spiced latte as he walked past the other with the slight and bothersome limp that always seemed to creep back to him after a long day. Carefully he nudged out a chair from under the table closest, hand signaling it to be for the other if he wanted to. Silver decided to sit upon the table itself which left his legs dangling free from his weight simply because he found it to be much more comfortable and glanced back at the other when Flint raised his question. 

The other didn't look like a smoker. He didn't even faintly smell like those who smoked did either. But he decided not to raise hid queries at the other’s decision because how the hell could he truly know what James did in all those hundreds of hours that they weren't talking?

"I have to ask what you did to let Muldoon to let you up here," Silver eventually said rather admiringly, having to place down the latte next to him to slip the packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and held it open for the other to take one, then doing the same with the lighter once James was ready.  
"He's usually a very hard man to persuade."

  
**Flint:**  
All the things one could learn on a single day...  
for example, today Flint had learned that Mr. Silver in fact did like pumpkin spice latte, that the small Scottish guy downstairs had a name that Flint now knew even though he'd never cared to know, and that apparently Silver either really disliked the name 'James' or was merely surprised about it.  
The man's hand brushed his own when he took the cup, cold fingers and soft skin and James watched with curiosity how Silver turned the cup around to take a look at the writing upon it, blue eyes widening just the slightest with what James assumed to be surprise.  
Hopefully he wouldn't come up with the very dumb idea of actually calling him James now.  
The pirate hat was quickly adjusted, lose strands of dark curls being brushed behind the ear with a swift movement that had James wondering how often said movement was required for Silver to manage those curls.

There was a silent moment in which his mind replaced Silver's fingers with his own, imagined the curls beneath his own hand and how he brushed it back behind the man's ear.  
It was an unconscious thought, came quietly and quickly and disappeared just as quickly.  
A 'thank you' which James returned with a simple nod, and he followed the man off the balcony to the closets table. Silver pulled up a chair, gesturing him to sit down and it was only then that James realized that it seemed like the chairs and tables and basically all the other crap on this third floor was built together by someone and this someone was very likely Silver.  
So what did that mean? Did John go up here and spend his breaks fixing the third floor, building himself his own little peaceful space?  
Something about this thought made James feel warm, it was something he could empathize with. A little piece of home, an own place to retreat to.  
It was odd to think something like that could appeal to a man like Mr. Silver.  
Sitting down on the offered chair, James picked out a cigarette and lit it between his lips, wondering yet again what the fuck he was doing here.  
Latest after having taken the first drag from the cigarette he realized why exactly he didn't smoke. It took quite some effort not to end up coughing and James almost wished he hadn't asked for it in the first place.

Once he had collected himself again, he looked up to meet the other's eyes, shrugging lightly at the question.  
For a moment he considered whether it'd be acceptable to allow himself a joke, say that pressing a knife to Muldoon's throat had worked well enough but then decided that he did not feel like upsetting Silver now. Maybe another time.  
"I convinced him that it'd be utterly stupid of me to harm you in any way in the current situation. I guess I am talented when it comes to persuading people."  
Was that admiration in Silver's voice? How likely was it that John was fascinated and not angry? James had expected the other to react badly to the fact that he had not merely shown up here but also managed to get the key, but apparently the other did not mind at all.  
James took another drag from his cigarette, slowly getting used to the taste and the smoke. Though he doubted he'd ever smoke again voluntarily.  
"Did you already get your bike fixed up?"  
That was a very random question but the thought that Silver was in need of paying a cab or even worse - walking to work, made James uncomfortable.  
Following this thought, there was suddenly an idea forming in Flint's head. He still had to get to his book store tonight to sort out the books that had arrived yesterday. It would be an ease for him to pick Silver up once the other was done with his work and drive him home or invite him over.  
The idea came unexpected and James wasn't sure whether it was a good idea either, especially because he did not really ever invite anyone over to his place anymore. So why should he want to have Silver over?  
And yet there was something appealing about the image of having Silver sit on his couch with a drink in his hand, dim light dancing across the man's curls.  
Slowly, James.  
Mr. Silver certainly had other plans for tonight.

  
**Silver:**  
He watched the other then. Watched how Flint’s movements differed vastly from every other time they had been in one another's company. Saw how he sat back in that wooden chair and how careful he was when picking out a cigarette from the few left in its pack, how the light seemed to shift and bend around the man as he settled into what he was doing.  
And through everything that he took in during those few brief moments, he would have never have placed this version of the older with any of the others he had come to know. But there were things that tied all version of the man together. There was beautiful green eyes that could easily weaken knees and bronze hair that could probably make a small ponytail if the other just so happen to try and make that happen. There was gorgeous freckled skin which could be canvas to any number of passionate markings and that oh so delightful aftershave against said skin that almost made Silver want to move from his seat on the table and bury himself against the other just to allow the scent to stay around that little while longer.

Yes, these things would likely always be present with Flint, whether he be staggering and drenched in button up shirt, slightly nervous-looking and cigarette in hand with t-shirt and that leather jacket, or one of the hundreds of other situations that John might just be privy to and remember.  
And that was it, wasn't it? There wasn't much he could try to do to stop what he was feeling now, anyway.  
He liked James Flint. One might even go as far as saying he had a 'crush' on the other even though the wording seemed a little childish. But Silver could sense there could be something of an adventure for him in Flint, something that told him that it wouldn't be easy or guaranteed but it would be genuine and a challenge. Now all that needed to work was getting Flint on board with it, or at least that was what the texts made out to be the main issue - which, granted, it seemed to be.  
But he didn't even know whether to trust those bloody texts.  
Silver traded his hand of the pack of cigarettes and lighter for the latte - taking the stupid plastic lid off to actually get something of a normal few decent mouthfuls - while he listened to what Flint had to say.

He could only shake his head at that. Less because of Flint and how he'd managed to find him up here and more to do with his friend’s willingness to let the man up without very much persuading.  
Or maybe it was just who it was that happened to be persuading him.  
"I guess that's why you're the reporter."  
John smiled, still rather impressed with the other, both hands back around the cup now and savoring as much of its warmth as possible.  
No, he couldn't possibly imagine many other people so easily getting access to the key up here.  
The thought that Muldoon could have been one of the few left in the bar those few evenings ago that was actually giving them any attention and therefore remembered James passed as a possibility, not that he would actually intend to say that aloud.  
A glance out onto the balcony confirmed the inevitable. It was getting darker, and darker meant colder. Silver could feel the cold wind clawing at him again, only this time he was succumbing to its presence.  
But at least he had something warm to hold on to for the moment.  
His bike?  
"Well, nearly," John replied after a moment. He'd almost forgotten that it was still in the process of being rebuilt about half an hour away from the pub.  
"It still needs new brakes and a new headlight, but it's looking a lot better than it did."  
The problem with new breaks and headlight was money. Or well, insurance. They hadn't made his life particularly easy over the weeks following the crash, and Silver had been left to choose between travelling to work via taxi or the underground because walking was something he rarely endured nowadays.  
So yeah, he really missed the simplicity of his bike.

A familiar silence blanketed them again then. A police car or ambulance whizzed past on the street below with siren blaring and blue lights illuminating the buildings standing much taller than the one they were both in now. John swung his good leg under him in time with the music he could faintly hear coming from downstairs. As much as he enjoyed the silence, it bugged him that the other might not be so happy with it.  
Turning and changing positions slightly upon the table, Silver lent his weight on the palm of his right hand whilst other kept hold of the cup, and proceeded to give the other a rather obvious look over.  
Flint looked at least somewhat calm in his seat, and seeing as he got it right last time, he decided to give it another go now.  
"Good day at work?"

  
**Flint:**  
A smile and a shake of head, a lose strand of dark hair slipping from behind the other's ear and gracing his cheek.  
James couldn't help but smile, too. At the simplicity of this situation, at the weird way all of this had started, at the cigarette in his hand and Silver's fingers around the cup.  
Domestic.  
That is what Silver felt like - domestic, like a little piece of home. A piece of home he could visit whenever he desired to and something was so very wrong about this.  
Silver was a stranger to him. He couldn't offer all of these things to James, and the feeling of being safe and warm and at home that he held towards Silver at the moment was no more than a fleeting sensation, caused not by Silver's own presence but by things way less important and way more obvious. By a good work day, the scent of pumpkin spice latte and smoke in the air, the weird magic a place like this held - shut away from the outside world.  
Silver had nothing to do with it.

Apparently the younger man's bike had been badly damaged. It had taken Flint only a few days to fix up his car and make it look shiny and new again, and even if it would have taken him longer - he still had his bike while Silver probably did not own another vehicle. In the cold and rainy autumn weather that was more than unfortunate and James assumed that the other made it sound way less bothersome than it truly was.  
He did not comment on it though, there wasn't anything he could say. The car crash had not only been his fault and voicing his sympathy would not only be useless but also not something James ever really did.  
Shit happened, people lost things all the time. Cars, lovers, homes, marriages, pets.  
What's the use in pitying one another when all things were meant to be lost eventually, the only difference was the time in which this loss happened.  
Silence settled between them yet again, the sounds of the city breaking through the quietness of the space they currently shared.  
James smiled at the other's familiar question. Luckily enough this time there was no bottle of rum in front of him that he could spend his money on and dim his senses with.  
Apropos, how much had he actually paid for that fucking rum that night?  
"Better than usual."

There was another moment of silence, seconds ticking away unheard and Flint felt like he should say some more, were it just for the sake of not giving Silver reason to ask for it.  
"Quieter, too. I got what I wanted without much difficulty, which is quite an achievement."  
That was true but not only a good thing. Yes, he had gotten what he needed for today but next week would require way more difficult things. James was not looking forward to next week or to the conversation with the navy officer that was awaiting him.  
But that was yet to go, it was not upon him yet and he shouldn't spend his days sulking about it.  
"When's your shift over?"  
So he really went for it. He was really about to do this.  
And it was not pity or guilt that led him to ask this, the words simply happened and he couldn't prevent them from leaving his lips.  
"I still have to get something done at my book shop; I could pick you up if you don't mind helping me with the books."  
James told himself that it would be of advantage for him to pick the other up. It was on the way and a helping hand wouldn't harm, it'd get the job done faster. Unpack the books, sort them into categories, place them in the right shelves - it wasn't necessarily exhausting work but it took some time.  
And he'd need way longer to do it by himself than he'd need if he'd share the work with another.

On the weekends Miranda helped him out but she was out of town today, visiting a friend, as far as James understood. She had asked him to come along but he'd refused.  
Apparently she is supposed to return tomorrow morning.  
Of course, he could wait until tomorrow and ask Miranda to help him but James much preferred to work at night. The atmosphere was so very different from the one in early mornings. He enjoyed the warmth and the contrast of dim light against the dark outside the glass doors. The quiet music coming from the turntable at the back of the small store and the smell of books. He also enjoyed not having to rush, taking his time to sit down at the desk and go through the various titles, trace the paper and make sure the book wasn't damaged.  
On the very rare occasions one of the copies happened to be damaged, he'd just take it with him and sort it into the book shelf that took up a whole wall of his bedroom.  
Should Silver agree to help him, all of this of course wouldn't be possible, there would be no comforting solitude and no silence to the place. But there would be other things instead - two glasses of Spanish wine or two cups of coffee, tea or hot chocolate, light dancing across dark curls of soft hair, blue eyes accompanied by a smile that felt almost familiar. There would be questions and Silver sitting in the big, wooden chair at the desk.

James had gotten to witness the place Silver had created for himself to retreat to when he needed to escape the stress and noise of his work. Why shouldn't he return the favor and introduce Silver to the place he retreated to, his own piece of home outside of his actual home.  
The other's help would be much appreciated and on nights as cold and rainy as tonight, it could almost get a little lonely in the store by himself.  
James looked up to meet the other's blue eyes, not for the first time finding himself reminded of the clear waters at the shores of the Bahamian islands he's once travelled to. The man's eyes seemed to hold all of the ocean's aspects James had come to love so dearly and none of those he had come to dislike.  
Clear and changeable those eyes seemed to cause in him the same mixture of longing, calm and silent excitement as the ocean did; the same storms he had come to admire out on the sea he's seen raging in Silver's eyes the very day they met.  
It was an odd sensation - to find the ocean he adored and resented all the same staring back at him now. Just that there was no resentment here, merely the sensation said resentment had left behind in its empty spot - the wariness of a danger that had to be lingering somewhere beneath the surface, a danger that was always there upon sea, be it visible to the eye or not.  
But no matter how long he stared into the oceans that were John Silver's eyes, he could not spot the danger lingering there, could not find any warning signs screaming at him to back away and leave the man alone.  
It only made James more wary.

  
**Silver:**  
Flint’s smile at his question was genuine enough for him to believe it. It was warm and slight and his eyes told the same story. And yet for a few moments Silver very faintly felt like he should be on the defensive - waiting for the man to slide a harsh comment or an expression to falter. The feeling sat just beneath his skin, distant enough of a thought to ignore until his mind had nothing else to do but focus on it. He knew that bringing up something he'd said on the evening that James had drank himself into a complete mess could have gone a few ways even when his words didn't intend to bring the worst of that evening up at all - he was just glad that he seemed to react in the way Silver had hoped.  
And the conformation that his day had indeed been a decent one actually managed to make John a little happier, too. It put to rest what he was slightly worried about knowing that Flint would at least probably have some buffer between his anger if it so happened to show up. Not that Silver ever really tried to bring that anger to the surface. Still, he nodded in response to the little information he was given whilst his mind tried to piece together what exactly the man had to do in his day. Reporters seemed to have a never ending task for whatever intelligence that they wanted. They seemed like stupidly determined people for the little they probably got out of it and that would automatically be enough for Silver to hate the job.

But that was just his stupidly vague perspective of it, and what did an inner city barman know? There were probably a hell of a lot of people that would hate the job he did and somehow he seemed to like it enough to stick around.  
Emptying what was remaining in the cup that was no longer providing heat, Silver took the time to secure the plastic lid back on it before glancing down at his watch which read 4:29pm.  
For the second occasion around the other he wondered why time seemed to like speeding up at the best of times.

With more than a little resentment to the idea, John slowly he pushed himself off of the table, careful to lower his weight onto his left leg to save a few seconds of the usual ache that crept back to him eventually anyway. And he was about to offer the other a chance to come downstairs so that he could return the gesture of the coffee he had been given, but stopped dead when Flint spoke up again.  
Silver blinked, brows furrowing slightly in the confusion that temporarily blinded him from seeing the most obvious bloody thing in the world. Somehow it took until the other spoke up a second time for it to hit him, well, like a Bentley, he supposed.  
Was this his way of inviting him on a date?  
He turned to Flint. Brushed that damn lock of curls back behind his ear again. Double checked his watch. It felt like someone had punched him in the gut with the realization, and with it came an odd flicker of nervousness. Which really was odd because usually he'd only felt that at times like being chased around a table, or in the occasional bar fight that he had to somehow break up.  
But he convinced himself it was down to the direct nature of the question rather than who it was being said by... which was total bullshit but he didn't want to think about that now.  
"I can finish at nine?"


	6. Welcome to my Treasure Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James invites John to a very special place and they spend a very special evening together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one I will split into two parts. James' bookshop is called 'Treasure Island', in case you wondered about the chapter title (I believe it is not directly mentioned in the text).  
> I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for your kudos and bookmarks, it is lovely to see you enjoy my silly little roleplay. I am aware that this is in fact merely a roleplay but I would be very happy about comments from you, just to see what all you lovely readers think.  
> And on a different note: The bookstore part of this roleplay/text is definitely my favorite one, I hope you will like it just as much as I do.  
> Thank you and enjoy!  
> 

  
**Silver:**  
So nine it was.  
Which was great, though Silver hadn't expected then - after the other finished his cigarette and left - that the following hours would be the slowest he had ever had to endure.  
Well, maybe that was a lie. But they were the slowest recently, at least.  
He felt more like some teenager fangirling over their new favorite celebrity than a thirty-two year old waiting to be picked up to sort out a few books because he just couldn't concentrate. That flicker of nervousness came and went, ebbed and flowed like the ocean’s tide but fuck, when those waves came in they hit hard.  
John was pretty sure he'd given the wrong change more often than not. And he was also quite sure that on more than a few occasions the customers had to actively catch his attention because his mind simply wasn't in the pub with him, but rather on James bloody Flint and his bookstore.

And he owned a fucking bookstore too?  
How much free time did that man have? He was probably out constantly with what his work involved and on top of that he had a radio show to deal with. So again, why also a bookstore?  
By the time 9pm came around it had almost felt like four days had gone by rather than four hours. But his day was done and actually, by the time Silver had collected his jacket and bag from out back, he was feeling a lot calmer than he had been.  
But of course there always had to be a small problem. Neither of them had actually specified where they should meet - whether it be Flint coming into the black sails and they left together, or if John should wait in the nearby car park or just out the front of the front of the pub.  
Silver chose just outside if only to aid Flint in skipping the step of parking up just to leave again a few moments later, and plus if he happened to spot him outside, he could just pull up and the whole thing would be a hell of a lot simpler.

And so he stood outside, cold wind whipping around him as he watched the cars going by and hoping that one of them might just be that all too familiar Bentley. What he hadn't even tried to consider was that the man might also have another form of transport.  
So when the deep hum of a very particular type of bike slowed mellowed out only slightly, Silver was none the wiser. He was drawn to the bike just because he knew that instantly it was a Harley and if he'd had the money present at the time he was ready to buy a bike in the first place, he would have easily chosen one of them.  
And it was only when he took a really hard look to try and decipher its model that he caught sight of a familiar leather jacket. That leather jacket.  
No way. Flint?! 

How many new things did this man have up his sleeve to surprise him with?  
Even still, the grin that plastered his features couldn't have been budged for love nor money.  
He moved past the few that were walking between him and the other as quickly as he could manage without looking utterly stupid, and once he sat behind the other and he'd put enough weight on his prosthetic to keep it in place securely, he lent in so that he could clearly be heard past the cars and other noise pollution so, close to them both - that god damn gorgeous scent back for just enough time to register it was there in the first place.  
"Nice bike ~"

  
**Flint:**  
So nine it was.  
Flint felt oddly nervous when steering his Harley through the busy streets of late evening London. He's considered taking his car instead but then realized he probably wouldn't be able to find a parking spot anywhere near the store. He was also, still, uncertain whether he wanted to have Silver anywhere near his Bentley ever again.  
He spotted the other immediately, curls and all.  
Silver apparently took a moment longer to see him but when he finally did, there was that stupid grin on his face again and Flint wondered then, whether he might have rather taken the Bentley after all.  
What was that guy so excited about now.  
James didn't have to wait long to receive his answer.  
Nice bike. Of course, he should have known that someone as Mr. Silver would have a weird fascination towards Harleys.  
"I know."  
Now it was on James to grin.

The grin faded quickly as James realized how much harder it was to focus on the road when Silver was holding on to him. Out of all things, he had not considered this. Had not assumed it would matter to him whether the other's arms would be wrapped around his waist or not, whether he'd be able to feel the other's body warm against his despite the cold wind and the speed with which he directed his bike through the streets.  
There was no denying the fact that he was more tense than necessary during the whole drive of what was probably about forty minutes due to traffic. Though there was probably something good to it, too - at least he didn't freeze thanks to John fucking Silver.  
By the time they arrived, Flint had almost missed a red light and allowed himself one or two utterly inappropriate and certainly dangerous drive-maneuvers. It was a miracle they had arrived safely.  
The 'Treasure Island' was dark and silent in the cold, early autumn night. Flint did not bother to help his company off the bike, he had a feeling the other wouldn't appreciate it. At the door, keys in hand, he hesitated though. Did he really want this? He was about to let a stranger into the one place he's spend most of his lonely nights at, the place he held so very close to his heart out of reasons he could not name nor explain.

Silver could disrupt it all, the warmth and solitude of this place, he could assume the collection of books to be worthless and meaningless, break though the veil of peace and ruin this.  
The key was turned, the lock clicked and James pushed the door open, holding it for the other.  
It was dark in the shop and as James switched the light on, its warm, orange shine threw shadows across the shelves and floor. It was like time travelling, a little at least. It seemed like the whole inside of the store was made of dark wood, it even smelled of wood. Of course there was also the very familiar smell of books and ink - latter came from the writing feather and quill James had upon his desk at the back of the store. He did rarely ever use it but he liked the way it looked, the touch of long past times it added to the atmosphere.  
Shelves filled with books reached almost ceiling-high, neatly sorted into categories. No traces of dust around.  
It was a small place, felt almost private in a way. The fact that a lot of heart and detail had been put into designing it only added to the feeling of having entered a private place rather than a shop open to the public.

James locked the door behind them and stepped up to his desk to place his jacket upon the tall chair that was standing there - also wooden, of course. Resembling a throne more than a chair.  
There were, unavoidably, certain objects that disturbed the illusion of having traveled back in time - the computer and printer upon Flint's desk, the check-out not far from the entrance door which belonged in every shop. The dozens of parcels neatly stored next to the desk.  
There was a single, smaller shelf behind Flint's desk which stored very few books and was mostly occupied by various records and vinyls.  
The turntable which gave sense to the collection was a few steps further to the left, having been placed there deliberately due to better acoustics.  
James took a deep breath of this place, of books and papers and ink and last traces of coffee lingering in the air, before turning to his company.  
"Coffee, tea, hot chocolate?"  
His voice broke through the silence almost violently, seeming to disrupt something that was lingering in the air unseen and unheard.  
Why was he so nervous?

"Or would you prefer Spanish wine?"  
He pulled up another chair for the other, indicating the other to sit down if he wanted to.  
During all this time, Flint observed the other intently, taking in any possible reaction. He feared to find confusion or disgust in the other's eyes, feared the man might burst out laughing and mock him for this little store that was so warm and old-fashioned and personal to James. He feared all of this and something inside him really wanted Silver to like this place.  
And yet staring at someone without saying anything was very obvious behavior and so James tried to appear casual, as if the other's presence did not really matter to him at all.  
"How was the rest of your shift?"  
He leaned back against the table, not sitting down yet - after all he still had to make his way to get something to drink for them.  
His right hand fumbled with the rings upon his fingers, creating a faint, dim sound against the surface of the desk he was leaning against.  
In the warm orange light of the lamps Silver's hair appeared even softer - if that was in any way possible - and James yet again had to fight his urge to lower his hand into the other's curls, just to touch, just to see whether they were really as soft as they looked.

He swallowed, starting to doubt his decision of having brought the other here.  
He remembered the odd smile of Miranda's when he had told her about Silver. Nothing explicit, just that they've met in a car crash and Silver had let him stay at his place that one night. James hadn't seen that smile on Miranda for many years. He had felt like he should know what it meant but he didn't. She hadn't said anything else, hadn't commented any further on Silver. Just...smiled that oddly familiar smile, placed her hand upon his chest briefly as if adjusting his shirt just that there was nothing to adjust.  
Flint wasn't certain why he remembered that encounter now, wasn't certain why this recent memory felt important suddenly.  
Eyes back upon the other man, he wondered whether Miranda would like him should they ever meet. Of course there was no need for them to meet. After all, Silver wasn't his friend or anything alike. They'd part ways soon enough and in a few years James might even have forgotten everything about John Silver.

  
**Silver:**  
The ride to the bookshop was longer than Silver had - for whatever reason - estimated, and the weather certainly hadn't gotten any warmer. So maybe it was lucky that the only thing he was actually willing to hold on to was the man driving them both. The same man that had scared him half to death a couple of times but also the same man that he found to be kind-hearted and rather nice company, even if he had been drunk.  
And yes, he could have maybe put his hands somewhere a little less intimate such as the handles that bikes such as these could come with and he believed to be there, but he didn't trust himself enough.  
So no, he held onto Flint because he preferred holding onto whoever was driving rather than leaving it up to him to balance on the back of something he didn't completely know when would turn or lean sharply.

It had just been a bit of a bonus that it was Flint he was holding on to.  
By the time they'd come to a stop, Silver’s hands were practically frozen. He remembered to let the other go when the engine was cut off though, and he appreciated the other getting off first because it allowed John a little more room to sort himself out. He didn't even attempt to move until Flint was well of his way to opening whichever door was his, but once the other was distracted by the small task of opening said door, Silver made his move.  
It was a slow move, granted, but he managed it rather well considering how cold he had become. He nudged his prosthetic out of its place against the bike to a stable footing and checking it before applying his full weight, swinging his able leg over the bike and there, he was off. It might have been incredibly slow to an able bodied person’s perspective but John was rather proud of how quickly he'd managed to do it.  
From there it only took a few steps before he's passed the door and his company into the store, and as soon as the deep scent of wood and books and stale coffee hit him, Silver knew that the other probably spent a lot more time than he'd originally thought the other did there - and that this place suited the other man completely.  
He couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at his lips ever so gently. This small shop was a lovely little place filled with knowledge and peace and a lot of what James Flint must truly love. Everything looked immaculate - no one book out of place, no dust and nothing unneeded. Only bare necessities and yet it looked so full and warm and inviting.

It reminded John of a mix between his own little place up on the third floor of ‘Black Sails’ because of the work that must have gone into a place like this and how similarly both places looked due to low beamed ceilings and beautiful design, and the library he often frequented at his orphanage. It was odd how the latter even entered his mind because that place and Flint's shop were nothing alike in the slightest other than the obvious. But there was something similar in its atmosphere.  
John couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly it was that made it feel familiar to him, but it was there in the background, subtle in its nature. Like the distant ticking of a clock or the quiet whistling of the draft under the now locked door they had just come through.  
It felt tucked away and quiet and safe.  
Flint's voice distracted him from his own thoughts and he had almost completely ignored the fact that he had heard the footsteps and groaning floorboards to make sense of where that voice was coming from. John looked away from leather-bound hardbacks and worn print detailing their issues and titles to turn to that voice, the odd sound difference in his own steps over wooden floorboards so normal to him now.

The offer of something warm over something alcoholic made Silver rather relieved. It wasn't that he had anything against wine, or indeed Spanish wine, but nothing right now could beat something made purposefully hot. Whether it be hot chocolate or coffee.  
He'd ruled tea out almost automatically simply because he liked it the least out of the three options.  
John gave a small nod in thanks to the offer of a chair and a chance to rest and he made his way over to it as soon as it was offered, slipping the bag off of his shoulders to be carefully placed against the legs of the chair.  
"Coffee, please - one sugar."  
The decision came with what he believed to be easier for Flint to do rather than what he preferred and because if he was honest with himself, he was feeling pretty exhausted by just the wait to see James again. Plus, hot chocolate and wine didn't sound like the best of mixtures.  
Silver decided not to sit down quite yet either, instead deciding on using the back of the wooden chair to lean against to take most of the pressure off his left side. And when he looked back to Flint and how he was leant against the desk, he realized just how much the man actually suited this whole idea of a bookshop. It had been a fuzzy vision in his head what with the idea that he would be too busy as a reporter to worry about something like this. But he could see now that James would probably allow time for this place and to get away from his main occupation. How this could be Flint's version of getting away from whatever the day had given him.

Slight smile expanded to a lightly amused one as John laughed at the other’s question. What a great one for the other to start on.  
"Slow, boring."  
He started, hand reaching up and for the hundredth time today pushing rogue and apparently stubborn curls that often came loose from the messy ponytail he had been sporting back behind his ears. He'd re-tied it four times today and he wasn't about to give it any more attention.  
"I suppose I should be thankful to you for getting me out when you did. My usual shift normally ends at midnight."  
In no way would Silver ever want to speak of just why the days that would usually pass so fast suddenly get so painfully slowed down by the man opposite him. Maybe Flint would guess that to be why, and well done to him if he did. But there were things that both of them had been careful to avoid speaking about. Flint's probable partner and whatever was on his mind the night he drank himself into a mess were both of Silver's questions, and there had to be some curiosity towards his leg from James even though he never looked at him any differently to anyone else. It was an odd thing to think, that even in the 21st century that a lack of part of a limb made many people see you as a completely different beast. That was something that took a while for John to swallow. The harsh and unneeded comments exactly when you didn't need them. So maybe that was why Silver was being so especially careful not to use his questions out of turn, because the other was treating him with the same sort of respect.

And he truly appreciated that from Flint - more than he would probably ever know.  
It took until Flint had got up - presumably to get the coffee, though he wasn't sure - before Silver noticed the vinyls on the bookshelf behind where the man had been leaning. It spurred enough curiosity within him to go over and check out what exactly the man had in his collection, carefully slipping around the old oak desk and chair and getting to his knees once he was there to begin flicking though the old and worn covers.  
"This is quite a collection." He spoke in a louder tone. Hopefully the man could still hear him from wherever he was.  
Pink Floyd's 'Wish You Were Here' and 'Dark Side of the Moon', Metallica's 'Enter Sandman', Jimi Hendrix's 'Are You Experienced', and a few Led Zeppelin's self-titled albums were what stood out amongst others like Dire Straits and Eric Clapton, B.B. King and Gary Moore. Even a couple of traces of the kinks and even, to Silver's surprise, the Beatles.  
Slowly it shifted away from rock and blues, and from the cover prints there seemed to be a distinct liking for Country music - something John hated with a passion. It only made it funnier to think that someone like Flint would actually listen to it.

And then the collection shifted again to something completely different once again. Ella Fitzgerald and Miles Davis, who again, with a closer inspection to the covers, seemed distinctly like jazz musicians. Quartets and different instrumental bands and even a few newer-looking covers before John finally had flicked through them all. Well, not all, there were more on another shelf but he decided to at least pick one from the section he's just looked through for now.  
By the time Silver picked one from the mass of vinyl and placed it on the desk behind him, it took quite a bit more effort than he would have liked to get back to a normal stance.  
"I di -ah." Apparently his leg hadn't liked that position, only now sending a rather uncomfortable jolt of pain up his thigh. It was enough to make John grip the edge of the desk for a moment and take a breath.  
But not for one moment was he going to let that beat him.  
He only got a quiet exhale to himself before he realized that the other was in his peripheral. Silver smiled at the other then, nearly laughed at himself and how pathetic that must have looked, only turning his head half way to Flint before just deciding to look up at the man through the damn curls that had come fallen back again.  
"I didn't take you for a country music sort of guy."

  
**Flint:**  
Maybe starting off with asking the other man about his work was a bad idea. There were a dozen other things Flint would have much rather asked, things that weren't useless small talk, but he knew there are things better left unsaid.  
Questions better not spoken aloud.

Silver's ponytail was a mess; lose strands of curls framing his face, making him appear exhausted.  
Flint had never worked at a pub, honestly. He had never spent much thought on how exhausting that job must be, especially for someone with only one leg. He snorted at the other man's words, wondering whether Silver would get into trouble because of him, having left from his shift way earlier.  
But it was Silver's decision and his problem, not Flint's and so he did not comment on it any further.  
James left the room through a smaller, barely recognizable door which served as entrance to a room which was half kitchen, half storage. Picking out two mugs he listened to Silver moving around in the background. The soft thud of his prosthesis and the sound of the wood softly complaining with each step he made. Silver's voice reached him when he was about to put sugar into the coffee he had just made for the other and for a moment James was confused over what the man meant. Collection of what? Books? Because that was fairly obvious, wasn't it? They were in a bookshop after all.  
But then Flint realized what other collection the man might be speaking about.

One mug in each hand - coffee for Silver and tea for himself - he joined John again, finding the man kneeling upon the floor, going through the vinyls and eventually picking one out to place behind him onto the desk.  
He was not certain what it was that prevented him from stepping up to the other man. Silver had not noticed him yet and James chose to enjoy the moment for however long it would last. The fact that Silver had not seen him yet made it easier to observe the other, to take a proper look at the messy curls and strong cheekbones. John Silver was not a tall man and despite the fact that Flint was usually quick to notice such things - he wasn't exactly tall himself either - it had taken him up until well, now, to notice that about Silver.  
Maybe the curls made him look taller.

Kneeling on the floor like that, James had a nice view of the man's neck and the light that danced across the skin there, lose strands of hair throwing shadows in all the right places, moving across the other's skin with each motion of his chest with every drawn breath.

John moved, then. Getting to his feet - or apparently trying to do so. Just that his leg failed him. James made a harsh step forward but managed to stop himself before he could place the mugs aside and reach out to support the other. Pain flickered across Silver's features, darkened his eyes. His breath quickened for a moment as his fingers gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white from tension.  
James watched, silently, but did nothing to help. It would not be appreciated and he knew that most people did not want to be seen as difficult cases, did not wish for pity or sympathy.  
And especially Silver didn't. It was more likely that the man would push him away should James try to help.  
Instead Flint placed the mugs down upon the desk, meeting Silver's eyes the moment the man looked up, finally aware of his presence. There was a smile though it did not hold any amusement, it was bitter and almost self-loathing in a way. But Silver was standing again, hair seeming even messier than a moment ago and he seemed fine. Mostly, at least.  
James moved the coffee mug towards the other and shrugged at the question, sipping his tea as if the hot mixture of black tea and hazelnut liqueur would make it easier to forget the pain that had flashed in Silver's eyes and whirled up the calm waters.

"I listen to various genres. Country just so happens to be one of them."  
It made him think of home. Not his home, just any home. A farm out on the countryside under open, vast skies and the utter peace of living in solitude yet never feeling alone. Though maybe he simply enjoyed the guitar. Who knew. Not like he'd tell, anyway.  
Picking up the vinyl Silver had picked, he placed his mug aside to make the short way to the turntable and carefully place the vinyl where it belonged. He knew what he was doing and how to treat a turntable; after all he's owned several of them in his life. And he was always treating both the turntable and his vinyls with utter care, no scratch or dust was allowed to leave its marks upon the shiny black surface under his supervision.  
Adjusting the volume he let it play, the music creating atmosphere but being quiet enough to be merely background sound.  
James considered the parcels at the desk and then considered Silver and decided that a few minutes of rest wouldn't harm. So he sat down at his desk, hands wrapped around the hot mug. The sweet smell of hazelnut was heavy in the steam that came out of his mug, easily giving away the alcohol in his tea.  
For a moment they sat in familiar silence yet again, only the music accompanying their lack of words.  
Eventually it was Flint who spoke up first - and he was very direct when he did so.

"So how did you lose your leg?"  
The thought that he should not have asked crossed his mind but it did not matter to him. He wasn't the empathic type and when he wanted to know something he would ask about it.  
Other peoples' suffering barely affected him, he had grown used to it.  
Yes, there were always things one should probably not talk about, questions better not asked but Flint wasn't one to stick to morals in such situations, or any situations really.  
What he couldn't achieve with conversation he'd achieve with force if it was necessary. And more often than not it was.  
With Silver however, there was no need for that.  
Should the man refuse to answer, Flint wouldn't push him. What should it matter to him how the other lost his leg? It was probably a story not more or less tragic than any story of such kind.  
Whatever it was that had happened, it had without doubt shaped the other - such things always did.  
Changed him, made him the person who was now sitting opposite James and sipping coffee.

  
**Silver:**  
Ah, so the other had been gone to fetch their drinks. About as suddenly as Flint reappeared to him there was a distinct hit of fresh coffee and amongst it something else - something almost sickly sweet. It wasn't on Silver’s mind for very long though, if not simply because there was a coffee with his name on it and his hands weren't getting much warmer.  
It had actually been a bit of a surprise not to see the other closer considering the loud move he'd made in his own petty effort to stand. And maybe if it had been anyone else that would have been the case.  
But not with James.  
It was an odd understanding that they had for one another without speaking a word of it. John hadn't taken the bottle away from Flint that evening although it wouldn't have made much difference, and Silver received no aid and although he would have probably fared better for it, his stubborn nature in connection to his missing limb simply denied anyone’s attempts. Somewhere at the back of his mind he knew that it was a stupid grudge to hold himself to, and that not only the men he knew at black sails, but this man also - James fucking Flint - would have been prepared to help, he just couldn't bring himself to see it as just that.

And even though part of him would have wanted nothing more than for his company to help him and to be close to him, Silver would have refused it for that very reason. Because he was a human being and same as very other fucking person in London or England or anywhere.  
But it just might be that the reason he had to keep reinforcing his own stubborn nature was because it was crumbling, and maybe, just maybe he wanted to see it fall.  
Even he'd had enough of thinking about it now.  
To Flint’s response he only gave a short nod. The thought of James listening - no, singing along to Country music, southern accent terribly preformed and a toothy and genuine smile pulling against freckled skin.  
The vision seemed to make the specter of the man with him more visible, as if bringing more of his nature to the surface darkened and built upon the ghostly mist he had first been so unlucky to meet that afternoon. The bookshop seemed to build upon that color, too, and Silver was now slowly starting to build up a picture of this man who had at first seemed so elusive.  
But color suited Flint. The way pale lips parted and showed sharp flickers of pinks and reds and white, how fierce and vibrant irises were swallowed by pitch pupils. How bronze, tame hair seemed to soothe and lessen unhappy expressions.  
Yes, this man was full of color, but unlike others, you really just had to take the time to really look to see its beauty.

By the time Silver was ready to let that particular thought drop from his mind, he realized that the other was moving again. Flint had picked up the vinyl and was heading towards the turntable. And what a gift that seemed to be. Long gone was that leather jacket but that suddenly became no issue. There was no issue to recreate what he'd been privy to the morning James had decided against wearing a shirt in his apartment, so now, when he wasn't faced with the angry side of the man, it became much more appealing to imagine just how strong muscles and bone and skin moved to his will.  
But before he could properly get his mind around just how delightful that would look, Flint had the turntable working and he was coming back, this time passing him to sit at the chair behind the desk.  
John simply - although regrettably - blinked the image away, following suit with Flint's idea of sitting by moving back round to the chair he had been offered not too long ago and happily taking the cup of coffee with him.  
And although a bike had to still be considered sitting down, it didn't beat an actual chair.  
He sank to match the chair and its posture, appreciating any excuse to rest for a few moments. And Silver stayed like that for a few long moments, vision wandering not on Flint, but rather the low beamed ceiling above the man and how the warm lighting played against the bookshelves and what they all held so fittingly, heat from the cup in his hands almost burning from the warmth but at least he was starting to warm up.  
The other's question surprisingly only managed to hit him about as well as any other considering how careful they had seemed to have been up until now. He knew that Flint didn't often play with his words, and this seemed to be no different. The man was rather blunt but John saw no ulterior motive for it - it was just funny how the question had to pop up only a few moments after his little struggle.  
But since when could you pick and choose when other people got curious?

Silver simply looked back at the other, vague amusement sticking to his features even when he knew that the real situation had been not the least bit funny. But he had lied about this from day one - to his friends, to those who asked, even to the nurses and doctors who only seemed to be around for check-ups whilst he was recovering in hospital.  
And maybe he had lied to most of them because he simply didn't like to admit just how helpless he had been in that situation, and that yes, that situation had basically been forced because of his own decisions. But to his coworkers? John lied to them because there was simply no way he would ever tell them any differently.  
"Car accident, as surprising as that might seem - given our circumstances."  
A slight smile veiled mostly by the steam pouring up from the hot liquid in the cup but John took a drink from it regardless - as if to punish himself from speaking such a lie so casually. It burnt his tongue and gave a harsh sting as it went down but his expression never faltered. And then he took a breath, exhale dissipating the vapor cloud for a brief moment, Silver watching how it formed back before speaking up again.

"Apparently the van driver never saw me coming, and when he took a particularly harsh turnoff for a junction he never indicated for he took me with him. My bike skidded off and he hit a barrier before his van tipped and trapped me by my leg. By the time I woke up I was in hospital two days later and ninety-five percent of everything under my knee was gone."  
John gave a light shrug. What more could he say about it? He'd already distanced himself from what actually happened and now that he'd lied so many times about it, he almost made himself believe that it was rather the idea he'd plucked out of thin air those months ago, and not the vicious attack that it truly had been. He couldn't even remember all that much of the actual evening, but then he'd read that the mind blocked the worst of memories out if it truly wanted to. It had only been a little over ten months, maybe not even quite that he'd lost it and though the doctors and surgeons said it would take some getting used to he doubted that he ever really would.  
"And what about you and this place?" Silver allowed his gaze back onto Flint after a pause between his words. It took a moment but he soon pushed his back from the chair and lent forwards, placing the still-full cup back onto the desk before working off his coat left it to drape low against the chair's back to push loose shirt sleeves back up above his elbows.  
"How the hell do you manage two jobs at once and still have time to sleep?"

  
**Flint:**  
The hazelnut liqueur added a sweet touch to the bitter black tea, warming James up from deep within. He only ever drank it here, and only ever with his tea. It was a tradition of sorts, two to three spoon-fulls of liqueur in his tea and music in the background. Sometimes he sat here with Miranda and they discussed the books they've read lately.  
James looked up, Silver was sitting in the same chair Miranda usually occupied. He was obviously relaxed, leaning back, hands wrapped around the steaming mug.  
He did not appear bothered by the question, there was even a flicker of amusement in the man's eyes.  
The story was as unspectacular as it was expected. Not unusual in the slightest. And so far James had no reason not to believe the other. The story sounded realistic enough and Flint didn't consider it to be a lie.  
"Some people might say you're lucky to be alive."  
Silver was not one of those people, there was no doubt in that. And Flint understood, to an extent.  
Loss was not luck, in no situation. And luck was bullshit.  
James played with the teabag in his mug, swirling it through the dark liquid until a more appealing view caught his eye - Silver had leant in, shrugging off his coat and pushing his sleeves up above his elbows, revealing strong, tanned forearms. Flint might have been staring for a moment too long. If those fucking forearms had him staring, what would happen should he ever get to see this man topless?

"It was a spontaneous investment. When I bought it, I didn't spend any thought on how I'd manage it."  
A smile stole itself onto his lips - soft and affectionate - as his eyes skimmed the shelves full of books he had invested so much money and time into.  
"Sometimes I don't sleep. I can function with little to no sleep. There is also someone who helps me out here."  
Miranda had been against this at first. He remembered the day he told her about his purchase, held her in his embrace and said 'I bought a book shop'. Just that back then this hadn't been a book shop yet. It’s been a long abandoned place, messy and dirty with little furniture and lots of things to fix and yet from the moment he had seen it, he had known it'd become a bookstore. His own bookstore.  
Miranda had not been half as happy about this as him. She had tried to reason with him - she always did, tried to convince him to sell it again and save the money.  
But eventually she's grown fond of it, too. The more time they've spend here, painting and building furniture together, transporting books, sitting on the floor late at night covered in paint and dust with a cup of tea in their hands and grinning at each other - the more she's come to like it here.  
And now she kept this shop alive whenever James couldn't find the time to do so.

But he tried to find time for this place. Be it late at night or early in the morning, before sunrise, he would do his best to get at least an hour or two of his day free to drop by and take a look at how things were going.  
"And you, have you ever considered finding a job less exhausting than the one you're currently occupied with?"  
This conversation wasn't really going anywhere but that did not trouble James. Admittedly, he wasn't one for senseless conversations but at the moment, sitting in warmth and safety and surrounded by books, they could have spoken about the fucking weather and James wouldn't have minded it in the slightest.  
Apropos books.  
Taking another sip from his liqueur-containing tea, James pushed himself out of his chair and picked up one of the parcels next to the desk to place it upon the desk surface with a heavy thud. It was about time to get to work; otherwise they'd spend the rest of the night here.  
He fished a pocket knife out of his jeans pocket - it had an elegant, wooden handle and a shiny long blade that looked sharp without needing to touch it to prove it really was - and used it to open the parcel which was filled with books to the very edge.

"We need to sort these into the shelves by genre, alphabetically and add them into the computer-system. Would you rather sit at the pc or walk around?"  
James hoped Silver would choose the first of the offered tasks. Carrying around books and sorting them into tall shelves was not only bad for the other out of all the obvious reasons but also because Silver might not even be able to reach the upper shelves and James really did not want to see the other man balancing on a chair with a pile of books in his hand.  
On the other hand, Flint was very much aware of the fact that he had to let Silver decide - or at least give him the impression of being the one to decide because it was probably safe to assume that Mr. Silver was not fond of commands, especially if those were given in a way that indicated that the reason behind the task given was the other's....disadvantage.  
James suspected that he was way more likely to achieve the desired result in this very little, meaningless conflict, should he let Silver decide upon the task he'd rather do and hope that the man was smart enough to know what was best for him.  
Also - it would be easier to teach the other how to use the computer-program than to show him which shelf was filled with which genres of books.  
Not that Flint would mind either way.

He placed the knife aside to pick up his mug again, allow himself another taste of bitter black tea and sweet alcohol. Though to be honest it was his own fault that the tea was bitter - he never removed the teabag in time. Actually, he never removed it at all until his cup was already empty. A bad habit born out of the fact that he was usually busy with something else when drinking his tea and thus simply forgot to remove the teabag. The bitter taste did not bother him though. In fact he's come to like it.

  
**Silver:**  
Carful climb of steam erupted over the coffee cup again back within his hands as Silver huffed. It was somewhere between amusement and an uncomfortable truth to what the other had said that seemed to pull that reaction right out of his lungs. Flint seemed to have been joking with him though thankfully, although his tone nor his expression were quick to give that as even a possibility. It was more with who was speaking the words that made him understand it.  
"And to those people I'd say 'fuck you'". The words spilled from John before he could even care to consider catching them though he wasn't bothered by them escaping - even catching himself with a slight smirk over his features. Maybe he would have been worried about saying something so openly and almost jokingly with James, but the atmosphere was quiet and inviting and it was hard for someone like Silver to just ignore such a comfortable feeling to go unnoticed.

He spoke a truthful enough statement too, as it would be for many people that had to face others bearing down on whatever shitty pretenses that made them feel better for knowing about an unlucky situation. Maybe Flint had been through a situation where he got similar comments - or maybe he hadn't.  
The questions just served to be more interested in the man sat across from him, stirring teabag within his own cup and then looking up somewhere in his direction.  
John appreciated it all the more when nothing more seemed to be directed in the prostheses' direction, though the attention seemingly hadn't been taken off of him entirely.  
James must have had a really good look at whatever it was he was looking at because, again, it wasn't very subtle. Last time Silver had given the stares little thought because he had either been drunk or…no, wait.  
He was pretty sure they'd both been obviously staring at the other and caught at least once by now.  
The stupidly obvious revelation released an urge to speak up about it then. The idea took over his mind with a frightening speed - a growing number of quips and other remarks so very close to falling off his tongue that the only thing John could think to stop making a fool of himself was to drink more coffee because what he could let slip this time may not have been so casual in its nature.  
So he did drink more coffee. And in truth it didn't burn half as badly as the first mouthful had done a little while earlier.  
But it was better to tread lightly around such subjects until they were a little bit more comfortable with each other in general - the last thing he wanted was to deter Flint just when something could indeed be, well, starting to go somewhere.  
Wait.

That thought sent an odd and unfamiliar warmth through him. It emanated deep from the chest and pulled itself outwards, almost giving the same sort of restlessness that he had been experiencing earlier in the day whilst waiting for his shift to end and James to show up.  
The feeling managed to stay for as long as the other explained - albeit briefly - how he'd managed to ground and build upon his idea of this place becoming the warm and relaxing space that they were both now sat within. But what really caught him in those moments wasn't the story itself, but rather Flint's smile that had seemingly come along with his words.  
It was slight and genuine and god damn gorgeous and for fuck’s sake he needed to rein himself in for a second.  
Luckily enough, the other had left a perfect question for him to answer in response to his own.  
"I've thought about switching jobs again, too. More than a few times, actually."  
Yes, Silver knew how weird his job must sound or look to those who pass by or even order from The Black Sails because he'd thought it strange, too. He'd been used to trading jobs every few months, moving from apartment to apartment and having just about enough money to get through each week. But that was the fun of it. He was out and meeting people and always on the go.  
It changed when he got to where he worked now. They were probably as close to a proper family as he was going to get and that didn't bother Silver one bit.  
"I hated working there when I started, thought the hours were shit and the people who worked there were hard to talk to, and it took a hell of a long time to get them to trust me like they did each other, but once they did...-"

A pause, enough to take in the realization that James was moving again and that it meant leaving Silver privy to the man's fluid movements. To take in the blade that he hadn't fully registered had appeared until pale ringed fingers grasped it to use on one of the many parcels stacked up against the desk between them.  
“I don't think I could leave even if I thought I wanted to now."  
Right, work.  
Silver had placed down his cup and was up before the other finished his last sentence, bringing another package onto the table and breaking into it far less efficiently than his company had. 

"I'll walk."  
John spoke, content smile resting over his features as his gaze flicked from Flint to the books closest to him and back again. No way was he about to waste an opportunity to walk around this place, and besides, the aching of his leg had lessened for now because of that short rest.  
Kind of.  
Hand held out, John simply waited for the other to pass him a book rather than taking one from him.  
"You'll just need to point me in the right direction."

  
**Flint:**  
It was when Silver swore that Flint truly realized how beautifully the other's voice worked with this place. Even spoken this harshly, it felt perfectly right in the way it settled in the air and crept into the book-filled shelves.  
And James thought, then, how good of a story-teller Silver must be with that voice of his. It was everything from catchy to irresistibly melodic and how nice it must be to have John read aloud to him one day. A thriller, maybe. Listen to how he'd build up suspense with his voice alone and give life to the characters.  
Had Silver ever considered lending his voice to an audio book? Probably not.  
A smile danced around James' lips at the other's words. He had hoped the younger one would have a harsh response to that. 'I'd say fuck you' was just about perfect.  
Flint found himself honestly interested in Silver's words, in what he had to say about his life, his job, his self. It was an unfamiliar sensation that felt long forgotten. It tugged at him in a way that made his heart feel heavy and his lungs tight, but it was accompanied by a warmth he had long forgotten about. The faint whisper of a memory stole itself into his brain, and James was surprised and uncertain about how alike the sensation from his memory was to whatever it was he felt now. It was somewhat relieving to find that right now this sensation was a lot weaker than it had been all those years ago though.  
No, he wasn't stunned by every sound and every smile of Silver's, wasn't struck with awe whenever the other looked at him, didn't feel like whatever left the other's mouth was truthful and correct in every way.  
All of that wasn't there now, and James had long told himself that those things would never return to him again because there would never be another and yet here he was, sharing his space with another.

Silver spoke of the pub and his connection to the people there. He seemed to be genuine about it and it created a weird contrast to the Silver James had gotten to know so far. The touch of sympathy, the emotion that lingered hidden within the man's words was so unlike the John Silver who had yelled at him in the rain or the John Silver who spend his breaks at work alone, building his own little space on the 3rd flood.  
Affection was such a complicated, knotted thing. It came when one expected it least and it clung in the most inconvenient times. It crept up to one in sleepless nights, was there in violence alike as gentleness and it had uncountable forms of representation. James knew what it could do and what it could take.  
He knew that when it was strong enough, it not only changed a person but gave them the strength to move mountains while also being blind to the sharp blades one walked upon. He knew that it could hurt and it could protect, that it could give birth to hate, despair, desire, bliss....love.  
And he knew how very fragile it made a person.  
How easy it was to break someone if one only knew where the person's affections lay.  
What James hadn't known, was that Silver would have come into the taste of getting to know this very particular emotion as well.  
There was something about the other's choice of words that seemed to strike a nerve in James, and in that moment he was glad that his hands were busy with the parcel.  
'I don't think I could leave even if I wanted to'

Something about these words was so very close to James in a way that it made his fingers tighten around the handle of his pocket knife, called a frown upon his forehead.  
Movement tore him out of it. Another package was placed onto the table with a loud thud, torn open less efficiently than the one James was still looking at. The smell of brand new books mixed with the smell of their drinks and Flint took a deep breath, letting the warmth of the place seep into him like he was lowering into a hot bath.  
He looked up again only when he was sure his expression had eased, meeting his company's blue eyes with a raised eyebrow but decided not to complain.  
It was Silver's leg that would hurt, not his. But James made sure the other saw that he was not at all supportive of his decision.  
"Fantasy."  
He placed a pile of books into Silver's offered hand.  
"Last row to the right, shelf F04. Don't forget to sort them in alphabetically by the author's names."  
Taking another quick sip from his cup, James started the computer upon his desk, lowering into his chair and picking out his reading glasses from out of one of his cupboards. Their familiar weight settled low upon his nose, making his surroundings appear lighter and sharper through the lenses.  
"You might need a chair, the upper shelves are quite high. I am not certain whether you'll be able to reach them."  
Despite the fact that there should be nothing funny at all about the image of John Silver balancing on a chair while trying to place a pile of books in the right shelf, James couldn't contain his grin.  
He didn't truly care whether Silver got to see it or not, he was already focused on the screen of his pc, fingers flying across the keyboard to log into the system.  
It was only when he heard Silver move that James looked up from above his glasses to watch the other man until he disappeared behind the next book shelf.


End file.
